


sons of the sea.

by shewon



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Atlantis: The Lost Empire Fusion, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Atlantean Culture, Atlantis, Background Relationships, Gangs, I Changed Names, Implied Relationships, Language Barrier, Little Mermaid Elements, Mermaids, Merpeople, Multi, Pirates, Platonic Kissing, Technology, fishermen, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewon/pseuds/shewon
Summary: “Get your fuckin’ dogfish!”“It don’t bite!”“Yes it does!”(Or, when two Atlantean youths get capture and shipped off to a science lab to encounter curious human beings.)





	1. ; uncharted territory

**Author's Note:**

> my prompt was the get yo fuckin dog vine, my inspo was 'atlantis: lost empire' and 'the little mermaid' and i guess 'the 13th year' too (a little.)
> 
> on a more serious-ish, i just got back into aot/snk and actually caught up on the reading too so i sprinkled in some references that won't outright spoil it, but its more like COVERT SPOILERS, so beware.
> 
> also, the Atlanteans in this fic thus far are: eren, jean, mikasa, historia, and ymir so they will have different names but I'll make it painfully obvious who's who(m).
> 
> p.s. a dogfish is a type of shark. a little teensy weensy one. a baby shark-

 

Jean slides against the glass pane pitifully, kicking Eren with his bare foot out of spit, snarling, “This is all your fault, you know.”  
  
Eren sharply turns his head to the white-haired young man and glowers at him, monumentally unamused.  “I figured you’d say that, barnacle brains,” he snapped back in their native tongue, bubbles swirling around him as he spoke.  
  
Confined to an obnoxious tank, Eren and Jean sat submerged in beautiful blue water as a spectacle for humans.  
  
They’d never encountered humans, not in their lifetime at least. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, Atlanteans had tried, but the humans took advantage of their resources and slowly destroyed their waters. So, that relationship couldn’t last. The point was that Jean and Eren had no business being captives to the land dwelling devils and yet somehow wound up here due to their combined ability to lack tact altogether.  
  
If Mika’sa were with them, they wouldn’t even be in this situation.  
  
Eren almost yanks the silver beaded earring off Jean’s ear just to spite him. “Well if you didn’t have _Fido_ chase after me, maybe we could be at home right now,” he accused.  
  
Jean’s eyebrows pull together. “Are you _seriously_ trying to blame my shark?”  
  
“Is that _seriously_ a question coming out of your mouth?” Eren inhales deeply through the gill slits in his neck.  
  
Jean points a tan, webbed finger, “But you’re just an idiot! What dumb prick swims towards a ship? Especially an enemy ship! Clearly, you didn’t learn jack from Battle Tactic!”  
  
“I failed Battle Tactic!” Eren tensed, making his way to Jean’s claimed side of the tank and yanking him by his sleeveless netted shirt.  
  
“You’re a dumbass,” Jean reaffirms, narrowing his light eyes while running clawed fingers through his white hair that was always floating above him.  
  
Eren has the thought of just scratching him once across the chest but decides against it, figuring out that reddening the water wasn’t gonna do either of them any good.  
  
So he shoves him instead, making Jean uncomfortably hit his back against the glass and some of the red beads tied into his hair fall out. This sets him off, and now the two Atlantean youths are tussling, creating waves as they splash around erratically punching and screaming expletives at each other that would’ve had all the elders of their respective tribes gag and faint.  
  
Jean finally had Eren pinned by his wrists, their tan skin burning but unmoving, itching to act or react.  
  
They had a really intense staring contest, not budging, even when Jean decided to play dirty and dig sharp nails into Eren’s hands. He only narrowed his eyes at that, not flinching.  
  
Both of their heads turned at once to the sound of a door being forced open with a loud bang, introducing a female scientist and her accomplice, a young man, who was probably no older than the sea-dwellers.  
  
“Oh, my goodness, this is so exciting!” The woman squeals euphorically, glasses nearly sliding off her face as she bounces on her toes, gripping her clipboard aggressively. “Every time I look at ‘em, it’s just, I can’t believe it, they’re so beautiful! Everything else is second, they’re the new top priority!”  
  
“Yeah,” the yellow-haired boy at her side mutters. They were speaking a language neither of the aquatic boys could decipher, even after all their Human Studies classes. “What do you think they were doing just now?” He croaks a little as he says it.  
  
Jean slowly retreats  from Eren, the intense invasion of privacy giving him whiplash because an artificially lit transparent aquarium was much more open than the vast, but _dark,_ ocean could ever be for him.

  
Eren sits up, peeved, and directed all his meanest glances at the human male who looks more afraid than enthralled, unlike his superior.  
  
“Oh, who knows,” the brown-haired superior says, chipper, “maybe a mating ritual? Two alpha males asserting dominance? We’re gonna find out soon enough!”  
  
“Dr. Zoe, I’ve gotta be honest, when I took this gig I wasn’t expecting to encounter a discovery this big,” he looks at her and then back at the tanned-skinned, jewelry-clad men in the tank, with their gills and piercing eyes blatantly staring back at him, “It’s overwhelming, really.”  
  
Jean had never seen a yellow-haired person before. And the brown-haired woman would be considered a rarity in the ocean too, because everyone in Atlantis had white or silver hair—except Eren, but he was the only brunet in roughly  five thousand years. Eren stared openly at the woman too, gawking at her paler skin and longer hair and weirder language and the fact that she looked the closest to him, but they still bore no resemblance whatsoever besides hair.  
  
“Look at their markings,” she notes randomly, pointing to the blue rings at Eren’s thighs, the rest hidden under his shorts. He had some present on the base of his shoulders as well, round cyan symbols identifying his tribe. “Do you think they’re permanent, like tattoos? Maybe it’s a cultural thing, or maybe it’s a biological thing that comes with age like sun spots. What would they even use to mark themselves with, anyway?”  
  
Eren, for all the crazy that he was, was from the Founding tribe, meaning he was a direct descendant of the founders of Atlantis and they were represented by the color blue, because it was abundant and Atlantis brings abundance to all the tribes.  
  
Jean was from the Warhammer tribe, a team of effective  hunters and blacksmiths coming from the trenches where the sharks lurk and represented by the color blood red.  
  
So, the female scientist ponders aloud about his red stripes and dots decorating his arms, looking like math symbols to her. “It’s like a whole bunch of equal signs running along his bicep,” she notes. “Hey Armin?”  
  
“Yes, Dr. Zoe.”  
  
“I’ll let you do the honors. You can be the first to attempt communication.”  
  
Armin instinctively reaches a hand up to play with his locks of hair, but pouts when he remembers the fresh undercut he got just days earlier. “I thought this _was_ communication.”  
  
“No. We’re talking _at_ them, about them really. I want you to talk _with_ them. See if they can pick up what you’re saying. Who knows,” she smirks, “maybe all the movies were right and they can speak human languages.”  
  
Armin has no response but to stand there dumbfounded.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

 

A day later, the Armin—as the two have learned to call him while they’re talking smack about him and all his sciency science—sits in front of them with a swivel chair and a notepad as well as some weird techno device that he snatches out of his pocket and sits on his lap after tapping the screen, pressing a red dot.  
  
The mer-boys slide back, discomfort already apparent, and they have a vow of silence, promising to be quiet, and if not that, vague.  
  
“Hello, my name is Armin Arlert, I’m an intern at this facility, and I’m gonna be interviewing you two,” he starts slowly. “What are your names?”  
  
Eren furrows his brows at the sudden pause, realizing they’d been asked a question and expected to answer.  
  
The Armin seemed to take note of their confusion and tried again, pointing to his chest as he states, “I’m Armin.”  
  
“Oh,” Jean realizes quietly, before pausing, weighing the risk of telling a human his name. He decides to go for it. There’s no way a human being could track him all the way into the pits of the deep blue. He shrugs, “Jeka’lomina.”  
  
Armin sputters trying to pronounce it and finally sighs when he comes up with nothing of the sorts. Rather than continuing his disrespectful butchering of the name, Armin just picks a name from the corners of his brain. “Can I call you Jon? Or maybe Jean?”  
  
“Jean?” He repeats, scratching against the walls of the glass container.  
  
Armin nods, inwardly cringing at himself. “You, Jean? Is that... okay?”  
  
Jean just sticks out his tongue, sharp canines peeking out from behind his lips.  
  
Armin gasps a little as he notices their more animalistic features, those defining characteristics that separate them from human beings.  
  
Still, he was astounded at the intelligence he was witnessing. If he wasn’t so wary of their claws and teeth and blatant dislike for him and their equally-as-blatant yearning to get out of that tank, his heart would beat from excitement rather than nervousness.  
  
He shakes himself out of his thoughts, turning to the brunet  boy with the green eyes. “You?”  
  
“You,” he repeats, before saying his own name. “Eruno’ye.”  
  
Armin coughs, attempting the name a few times, but giving up at the merman’s—is he really, though?—increasingly offended expression. He was convinced that those names could not be pronounced by the human tongue, not without some practice and immersion, at least. “Will you settle for Eren?”

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
Jean and Eren end up fighting again once it reaches nightfall and they’re both bitchy because they’re hungry and had been rejecting all the peculiar fruits the humans had offered.  
  
So, yeah, they’re quite irritable, and they used arguing as a mental exercise to pass the time.  
  
“I don’t like Armin,” Eren declared petulantly with arms folded.  
  
Jean nudges his shoulder with a childish grin plastered on his face. “Aw, c’mon, he’s kind of cute.”  
  
Eren scoffs. “Whatever, seahorse,” he jibes.  
  
“I’m just tryin’ to make a positive outcome outta negative situations,” Jean says in his own defense.  
  
“Oh, ‘cause you’re quite the optimist, huh?” Eren fiddles with the huge pearl earring on his lobe and nearly stabs his finger on the rook piercing made of angler tooth.  
  
“Well, I have to be, since I’m always getting put into shitty situations.”  
  
“Is the seahorse trying to imply he’s constantly a victim of circumstance? Always innocent?” Eren deadpans, “So we’re lying now?”  
  
“I tell no lies.”  
  
“Yeah, ya do. Remember the time you told me you finally got pretty girl Mika’sa to finally go on a date with you and it turned out to be a lie,” Eren grins.  
  
Jean frowns, “Well, you shouldn’t have followed me anyways! Invasion of privacy, much?”  
  
Eren snorts, gesturing at the cage they currently sat in.  
  
“Besides, did I lie to you when I told you my godmother was a hammerhead shark?”  
  
“Yeah but I didn’t need any proof of that; just look at your face.”

  
“Look at yours,” Jean moves closer, amped up to get physical and eager to start it.  
  
He and Eren always poked at each other, but being equal opponents meant that their quarrels always a ended up being a stalemate, yet it was always an interesting one nonetheless. Even under the sea, in school they were always getting at other at the expense of their teachers and peers;  usually with biting words, unrealistic threats, and lots of subsequent detention. Jean found himself defending Eren from bullies who targeted him because of his unique hair and Eren served as Jean’s first friend—and only, for a while.  
  
Instead of hitting him like he’d expected, however, Eren kissed him. It was too quick to really let it sink in and marinate but it was _there_ and it left Jean feeling weird.  
  
They had kissed before, more than they’d willingly admit. It was customary to kiss friends in their culture, just not as often and not really on the lips that often either; but it is what it is, right?  
  
Usually, when it happened, Jean initiated because he knew the right time and place and wasn’t so impulsive to just act on a whim.  
  
This lab was not the right time and place.  
  
He chuckles.  
  
Eren laughs too, loudly, generating tons of bubbles.  
  
“Really? Here? Now?”  
  
He shrugs, eloquently explaining himself. “We don’t even know what we were mad about. Our conversation was going _somewhere_ and it just needed to just, not.”  
  
Jean tsks and rolls his eyes. “Always the charmer, Eren,” Jean mocks the pseudonym.  
  
“Right back at ya, Jean-boy,” Eren sneers.

“Gross. Don’t call me that.”

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
“So, Levi, explain to me exactly what went down and how you found our two boys,” Hanji pried through the phone.  
  
Levi, on the other end, huffs and there’s an audible palm to the face that follows. “You’ve asked me for the story about six times already. I told you, four-eyes, I’m not the one who made the initial catch, it was one of my men, women actually. Sasha.”  
  
“Well, get her on the line.”  
  
“Hanji, it’s seven o’clock on a Sunday, I’m at home,” he retorts stoically.  
  
“Well, you were a witness. What did you see when Sasha made the catch?”  
  
Levi knew if he didn’t just tell her now, she’d harass him until she got the answer she was looking for so the fisherman spills what he recollects.  
  
“We were riding a few odd miles off the shore of Paradis Isle, and we weren’t actually prepared to catch anything alive,” Levi explained, “Sasha’s good with a harpoon, but the shit jammed, luckily for us. We saw some figure in the water but we weren’t exactly sure what we were lookin’ at because they looked big and fleshy and all that, but it couldn’t be a person. People weren’t allowed to swim that far off and I doubt they physically could anyway. So, I ignored it, thinking the shit would just go away on its own like a smart little animal. Sasha and Connie didn’t ignore it. They laid out the net and hauled some fuckin’ kid—“  
  
“Brown hair or white hair?”  
  
“Brunet kid,” he corrects himself dryly. “He had his fingers tangled in the net, it was a little knotty, but he was trying to pick at it with his sharp-ass nails. The kid had those cuts in his neck, too, which set off major alarms because those shits look like gills to me.”  
  
“How’d you get Jean, then?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“His friend. The other one.” _Jeka’lomina._  
  
“Oh, he rocked the boat. He kept pushing it, I think he was trying to overturn the ship, but that shit’s expensive as hell so I wasn’t letting him do that. Plus it’s not made of fuckin’ plywood so it was too heavy for him—especially with all of my people on it. Since he wanted to be with his buddy so badly, I grabbed the other net and finally nabbed him. It was hard though, he put up quite the fight.”  
  
“How’d they react to sunlight?” She reads a question off her notepad.  
  
Levi snorts, “I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention. They were shivering, but they did just get pulled out of fucking water, so, it’s easy math.”  
  
“You failed math,” commented the woman flatly.  
  
“But it’s equivalency, four-eyes. It’s like when you first step out of the shower.”  
  
“Ugh, you know I don’t shower.”  
  
“Oh, that’s right,” Levi said monotonously, “you bathe.”

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
What had happened on that fated day was not that simple, cool, calm, nor collected from the aqua lads’ perspective by any means.

 _  
_ _It was fine, a regular day under the deep expanse of blue, lit up by bioluminescent rocks and warmed by aquatic volcanoes._ _  
_ _  
_ _It was teeming with fish and anemones and crustaceans and sea snakes and pearls and everything was good. Normal._ _  
_ _  
_ _Eren had only recently celebrated his nineteenth birthday, symbolically cutting his outrageously long amount of hair that he’d been letting grown out up until that specific birthday, and he was still adjusting to not having the constant splash of brown trailing behind him as he maneuvered through the waters._ _  
_ _  
_ _He met up with his friends at  a bustling coral reef that they always hung out at after school since they were guppies._ _  
_ _  
_ _Mika’sa of the Attack tribe had been his friend since age nine, and it was only natural that they’d be compatible due to coming from clans that had been allied for millennia._ _  
_ _  
_ _Hissu’rei was another friend of his, who he was starstruck to be around because he couldn’t believe he really managed to befriend the future queen of Atlantis! She came from the founding family of the Founding tribe. She probably had God on her roster. They’d been friends since middle school, and in high school Hissu’rei added another to the bunch by throwing her girlfriend into the loop._ _  
_ _  
_ _That girlfriend was Ymiro’o, from the highly spiritual Jaw tribe. Eren used to be put off by her at first, finding her a bit intimidating because she was so tall and charismatic and tall. Ymiro’o was very honest, though, to a fault, so Eren quickly figured why the princess liked her so much, she never hid her feelings for her._

 _  
_ _So that was that, they were chilling by the reef, cautiously swimming past sleeping lionfish and careful to not sit on any sea sponges while they just caught up with each other. It lasted for a gracious ten minutes before it was ruined._ _  
_ _  
_ _Mika’sa pointed a tan finger before brushing her pale silver bangs out of her face. “Isn’t that...”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Eren saw the small, goal-oriented shark eyeing him as it barreled past the group of angelfish who were scurrying to get out of it’s way._ _  
_ _  
_ _He skedaddled, flying past the girls in a flash, and they simply just laughed at his antics; but it was no joke._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Get your fuckin’ dogfish!” He growled aloud, knowing who was behind him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“It don’t bite!” The voice yelled back._ _  
_ _  
_ _Eren insisted, “Yes it does!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Eren can’t outrun the fast hunter that speeds towards him so he unsurprisingly ends up with a dogfish nipping at his wrist and drawing a bit of blood which only proves his point, bitterly._ _  
_ _  
_ _He turns to Jean and scowls, brandishing his wound that was already sealing up efficiently with a faint scar. Small wounds healed almost instantaneously. “It doesn’t bite, huh?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Jean smiles at him sheepishly. “Whoopsies?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“How ‘bout you get that thing a trainer, huh, seahorse?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Sorry, I been training him myself and well, you know how that goes,” the taller guy shrugs with an innocent raise of his light eyebrows._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Just feed the little bastard to your godmother or somethin’,” Eren comments, “That shit hurt. And the girls laughed at me!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“They’re always gonna laugh at you if you keep being scared of puppies,” Jean emphasized._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Whatever. I’m not scared of anything—“_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Not so fast, Eruno’ye; you don’t want me to expose you,” came Mika’sa’s voice after she finally caught up to them, long hair cascading behind her._ _  
_ _  
_ _Ymiro’o beams, “Expose him!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Nah, you can’t!” Eren persists. “Not if I do what’s never been done before. You all are too scared to do it,” he kicks his legs excitedly._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What, exactly?” Hissu’rei narrows her blue eyes, folding her arms. She hates Eren’s pointless tests of strength, chiefly because he’s never come first in these challenges; it was literally always Mika’sa._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’ll go to the surface,” he said with conviction, already cutting through the waters and shooting upwards like a rocket. The others trail after him warily._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hey, I don’t think that’s too smart,” Ymiro’o says, not playing around anymore, “I think there’s a reason we don’t go up here—“_ _  
_ _  
_ _“The dry land devils, have you not heard of them?” Mika’sa adds, trying to frazzle him with fear so he’d come back to his senses. “They’re the ones who keep dumping their garbage in our homes. I promise, you don’t want whatever’s up there.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Have you no sense of self-preservation?” Jean chastises before accusing. “You’re suicidal!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Hissu’rei winced before preaching, “The seaweed is always greener in somebody else’s lake.” Her silver head-chain swings as she speaks._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I don’t care about the humans or the land demons or whatever they’re called. We’ve got lungs, and I’d like to use them. I’ve got sun to soak up.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“We do use our lungs! At the cavern we go to during the summer to hide from our responsibilities,” Jean supplies, and the others hum in agreement, thinking about that dark, comfortable cave on that tiny island that is a hassle to swim to, but totally worth it._ _  
_ _  
_ _In the midst of their conversation they find themselves closer to natural light than they realize and they have to squint their eyes to look at the brunet who was now far ahead of them. He was always such an abnormal._ _  
_ _  
_ _“There’s a boat!” One of the voices warned._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m not scared of no boat!” Eren puffs his chest, circling around the vehicle, inching closer with each lap._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Get away from there! At this point you are literally playing with your life!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’ll get him,” Mika’sa says dutifully._ _  
_ _  
_ _Jean holds her back by the arm. “He’s just being a dumbass, plus, it’s too dangerous if we don’t know what they’re equip with.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She frowns at him but nods understandingly, resisting her natural programming to protect members of the Founding clan in favor of taking the princess and her girlfriend away from the situation._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Princess, we don’t want you locked up in a tower for venturing too far now, do we?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Mika’sa says goodbye to Jean, promptly pecking him on the cheek, and takes Hissu’rei’s free hand and the three girls dart off, disappearing into the blue but not before she advises Jean to make sure Eren doesn’t do anything even stupider, like get caught._ _  
_ _  
_ _Well. He’s got a funny story for her._ _  
_ _  
_ _Now, he and Eren are on the hardwood of a boat tangled in thick rope nets that would take weeks to bite through if they ever tried. There’s a whole squadron of pale human beings ogling at them as if they’d never seen creatures with two arms and two legs before; but that’s likely because the two boys have all that and then some—gills at the neck, colored tattoos decorating their limbs, snow white hair, sharper canines, long and pointy retracting nails, and the list goes even further._

 

_“What are they?” One burly man spoke at them in a language they didn’t understand, but recognized as a human language they’d learned of—modern Eldian._

 

_“I dunno, Eld,” the short, black-haired man had responded to him._

 

_Jean shivered under the web of complicated netting and scolds himself for looking so weak._

 

_Eren growls irritatedly and continues a futile attempt to free himself despite one hand being stuck in some awkward position behind his head. When that doesn’t work he resorts to what he’s best at, raging and thrashing._

 

_Jean would laugh if he wasn’t also a captive, but. Yeah._

 

_The sun streams light directly into his eyes, but it’s blocked when two girls loom over him, examining his features._

 

_“Sasha, you caught this? This is a guy,” the woman with the orange hair speaks in heavily tonal incredulous gibberish._

 

_“No, better! A merman! But tail-less,” the Sasha girl responds, just as excitedly. “I was hoping for eats but this is  just as good; we’ll be famous!”_

 

_“Yeah, no kidding,” some shaven fellow in overalls adds. “Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer, local fishermen first to catch sea-men.”_

 

_“Sea-men?” Another new face inquires, poking the Jean’s thigh with a cautious finger. His legs stiffen._

 

_“Yeah, Gunther, men of the sea. Not quite the mer-babes everybody was thinking of, but this only proves they exist,” Connie explains coolly._

 

_“So, who’re we giving these boys to, boss man?” An older man turns to the dark-haired man who seemed to run the whole operation._

 

_“I know someone who’ll pay handsomely for them,” Levi answers vaguely._

 

_Levi sells to practically anyone—eccentric millionaires who collect tropical fish for sport, fish markets, grocery stores, aquariums, science laboratories… anyone willing to drop a dime._

 

_That anyone just happens to be St. Maria’s Marine Research Facility, led by his good ol’ friend, Hanji Zoe, PhD, veteran naval officer, and the woman that used to annoy him in college, and the same one that encouraged him to start his own business._

 


	2. ; underwater linguistics

_Ymiro’o bangs a fist against the transparent dome encapsulating the royal palace. The protective dome could be described as somewhat of a force field, it was mystical, powerful, a beaut, too—and it was separating Ymiro’o from her princess.  
  
The royal guards look at her with comically disappointed faces, knowing she was no real threat, and viewed her more like some persistent annoyance. One of them was from the same clan as her, adorned in the same delicate pink tattoos  that ironically identified members of the Jaw tribe.  
  
“Ymiro’o, let it be,” he sighs behind his armor. “You will break it.”  
  
“It’s impenetrable!” She counters stubbornly, continuing her childish knocking, “I only wanna make a statement! I got something totally safe-for-work to tell the babe on the middle throne. She won’t hear me unless I chuck masonry at this thing!”  
  
The guards grimace but the familiar one continues. “What could be so urgent?”  
  
“Sorry to break it to you, **uncle,”** she mocks, highly animated with her hand motions, “but it’s not only girl talk, it’s girlfriend talk. Highly confidential, personal, under wraps, and so not your business!”_  
  
_He rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re a familiar face. Your romantic companionship with the princess is the only thing that keeps you afloat and protects you from getting immediately swept out of the sector.”_  
  
_The other guard mumble some code into his wrist communicator and Ymiro’o waves as she is allowed into the dry fortress sitting on a rock of the ocean floor. “Thanks, guys!”_  
  
_Once inside, Ymiro’o is increasingly aware of how heavy and wet she is, but is instantly dried by high-powered fans as she walks in through the beaded gateway, still a bit wobbly on her feet from lack of practice._  
  
_She stumbles twice and decides to just slide her feet across the cold ground instead. She was always a bit amazed every time she stepped into the building; the fine china and history just washing over the room through means of it’s priceless decorum._  
  
_Hissu’rei spots her after coming down a hallway and barrels towards her as fast as her quick, little, experienced legs can take her. She’s short but she has a powerfully royal presence when she twirls her royal head-chain on her finger and asks, “Well?”_  
  
_“The guys haven’t returned and it’s been over twenty-four hours. I’m ninety percent sure Mika’sa’s well aware because the **special seashell** always checks in with her; you know those two,” the taller girl drones._  
  
_Hissu’rei sulks. “What does she plan to do about it? I could encourage a search but then I’d need **both** of my parents’ approval and it’d be a cold day in hell before that happens. Searching dry land is uncharted territory. Unprecedented, too.”_  
  
_“I dunno. She’s always a bit fiery when it comes to those two, I think it’s the maternal instinct of hers but... it’s been too long. Whatever those meatheads above us have done to them, we don’t need hothead warrior Mika’sa accidentally becoming their third trophy because she charged in blind.”_  
  
_Hissu’rei looks appalled. “So you’re suggesting we abandon them? Like some lost cause?”_  
  
_Ymiro’o pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, my crystal, of course not; I’m saying we see how things play out. You’re connected to them almost as much as Mika’sa is. Surely, you can tell, right? They ain’t dead,” she assures. “Even I feel it. The last thing we want is one of your most promising guardians to become lost above sea ‘cause she couldn’t get out of her **feelings**.”_  
  
_“So, we should worry about Mika’sa, worry about what’s **tangible,”** Hissu’rei agreed, setting her head-chain on her crown, “Then I’ll demand a guard on her. Two. The strongest man and the strongest woman of the Attack tribe should keep surveillance over her.”_  
  
_“Yeah. ‘Cause if not, then we’re **really** screwed.” Ymiro’o puts a hand to her chest._  
  
_“Hey, what about their parents? Elders? They haven’t asked about their sons?”_  
  
_“I don’t know much about it but those two do have that habit of running off to go blow off steam elsewhere. I bet they just play dodge-the-stinger in the jellyfish turf most of the time. Plus, remember that time they invited us to go ride turtles? How did they figure out their migration patterns? Dudes’ spend time together for sure. **Weirdos.** Their parentals probably thought they’re off doing some stupid shenanigans like that.”_  
  
_“That does sound like ‘em. But Ymiro’o, I’m worried. Legitimately worried. I’m a damn monarch and even **I** can’t help them—I don’t want our friends to get **eaten** by those people—you know those humans’ll find a way to eat anything,” she said in a panic._  
  
_“Hissu’rei, this is not your fault in any way. So I don’t want you to even consider that it is. We’ll help our friends as best as we can, starting with our Attack girl, yeah? C’mon, shortcake, you need to relax. Take a breather.” She was talking to both herself and her princess when she said it. She bends to plant a kiss on the girl’s pink lips. “Also, add height to your to-do list because if you don’t grow some, crystal, I’m gonna break my back before thirty.”_  
  
_Hissu’rei’s solemn expression swiftly shifts into a playful one and she jokingly punches the other in the arm, “Oh, whatever.”_

  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
  
“They look miserable,” Erwin Smith notes with a sullen expression, tapping at his clipboard with a pencil. “They’ve got to eat something.”  
  
“I know!” Hanji replies hopelessly with a melodramatic display of frustration, “But they’re deliberately rejecting everything we’ve offered! I’ve raided supermarkets of every fruit they had but _nooo—“_  
  
“Hanji—Dr. Zoe, professionalism,” Erwin reminds her, pointing to the young intern who’d just arrived. “Hello, Armin.”  
  
“Armin! They won’t eat,” Hanji complained childishly with a whine, before gesturing at the tank, “They’re hating it just as much as I am but they won’t budge. I can’t try meats on them either because it’s too risky giving them things like veal; so I’m stuck. It’s like they’re protesting me.”  
  
“That’s because they are,” Erwin points out. “Maybe they just need some encouragement.”  
  
“What could _encourage_ them more than an array of colorful fruits shoved in their vicinity?”  
  
“They don’t know what it is, for all they know it could be poison. Hanji, you have to remember that they don’t view us as friends because we didn’t exactly approach them in that way. We’re as foreign to them as they are to us.”  
  
“Dr. Zoe, may I? I think I understand what Dr. Smith’s saying,” Armin says, reaching for the bag of grapes the biologist grips in her hand.  
  
“Knock yourself out, kid,” she drops the fruit in his hand.  
  
Armin grabs one and eats, then two, and then some more, and some more. Hanji just ogles at him, shocked at his impromptu boldness. He was gonna eat all her fruits!

He had nine in total. He then slowly makes his way to the ridiculously pompous tank sitting center stage in the laboratory and glances at the A-frame ladder just next to it. “See,” he whispers, “totally safe.”  
  
He steps onto the ladder with an unsettling creak and continues up until he sees the Atlanteans from an aerial view, and they’re, predictably, still trying to avoid him.  
  
It takes about a minute and a half for one of them to finally make a move towards the top of the tank. _Eren_ did it, succumbing to his hunger and curiosity. Jean attempts to hold him back with this incredulous look in his eyes but Eren just shakes him off. Once the air of the room hits his face Eren visibly cringes and audibly wheezes as he struggles to transition from using his gills to his nose so abruptly. He’s still not entrusting Armin completely, if the way he snatches his wrist and elongates his nails are any teller—but he picks a grape off and eats it, which makes Hanji combust into a mess of sounds the background.  
  
Armin’s still tense, because Eren’s grip on his wrist hasn’t loosened despite the somewhat content look on his face from tasting the grape. In fact, his grip only _tightened,_ like he suspects Armin has some trick up his sleeve, and he glares a little as he inches Armin a bit closer to the tank—as if he intended to take the grapes and Armin down with him.  
  
Armin can do some things. Like swim.  
  
He also can’t to some things. Like breathe water.  
  
And _nobody_ could hold their breath forever.

That was impossible.  
  
“Let go,” he mutters, eyes shaking.  
  
The Atlantean responds in his own argot, but they’re clearly not talking about the same thing.  
_  
_ _“He looks a lot like the living princess, just, with sandy hair, yellow hair,”_ Eren mutters, analyzing him, which goes right over the young man’s head. Eren then turns around, eyeing Jean who’s been looking at him with this shocked, disappointed blend on his face. _“It’s not bad. He even ate it himself. If I die because of it, he dies too.”_  
  
That was the longest sentence heard from him.   
_  
_ _“So what? Should I join the club?”_   Jean responds angrily. _“You bastard. What if it has no effect on them?”_  
_  
_ _“How could they know what poisons us if they’ve never done it before?”_ Eren challenges.  
_  
_ _“There’s a first time for everything, shrimpy, and I don’t wanna be remembered as the first Atlantean numbskull humans managed to poison,”_ Jean says, gravelly tone in his voice.  
  
Hanji and Erwin are highly intrigue by the display of intelligence and language.  
  
“The sounds they’re making are very distinct and pronounced, they’re words, and the inflection only point to one thing. An argument,” Erwin scribbles notes down perfectly in cursive. “I think... He’s trying to convince him to eat the grapes, and the other is denying it. Quite vehemently.”  
  
Hanji giggles, awestruck when she whispers, “Holy Rosy, that is amazing.”  
  
Eren lets go of Armin’s arm, dragging the giant bundle of grapes down with him and leaving the blond with the baggy. _“Just eat the damn circles! You’ll starve!”_  
_  
“No!”  
  
_ _“I’ll eat ‘em all, then!”_ Eren warns.  
_  
“I don’t care.”  
  
_ _“Hm, sure,”_ Eren eats, purposefully slow, teasing the other with low hums of approval at the sweetness.  
  
Then his stomach grumbles.  
  
Jean sucks his teeth before begrudgingly giving up and listening to his body. _“Fine. But if I die, you’re goin’ down with me, and I’m haunting you for eternity.”_ _  
_  
_“Punk-ass.  I already ate like, twenty of these, I’m_ **definitely** _going down with ya,”_ Eren says with cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.  
  
Armin smiles, offering them more fruits because a shared bundle of grapes isn’t gonna satiate stomachs that hadn’t been filled in two days.  
  
Armin drops down two apples, two mangoes, a bag of strawberries, and a bag of raspberries—all after eating one himself to show that it was perfectly safe, and this time Erwin and Hanji did as well.  
  
Dr. Zacharias and his apprentice, Nanaba, walk into the room right at that moment, jaws nearly hitting the floor as they watch the aqua lads eat happily.  
  
“Woah, you all finally got them to eat,” Nanaba commends with an impressed hand on her hip, “Congrats.”  
  
“And we got some interesting dialogue out of it as well,” Erwin adds.  
  
“Dialogue? How so?” Mike squints, but it goes unnoticed due to his impractically long bangs.  
  
“They have a certain native language they speak in.”  
  
“It kinda sorta not really sounds like when that Pastor Nick guy got arrested for high treason and started speaking in tongues on the news,” Hanji compares, not intending to joke.  
  
However that doesn’t stop a very synchronized snort to resound through the room as everyone tries to mask their chuckles behind their hands.  
  
Hanji lifts her goggles up onto her forehead. “What? What’d I say?”  
  
“Nothing,” Nanaba tittered.  
  
Armin steps back on a ladder with a plastic bag and the young men neatly dispose of the stems and seeds and pits of the fruits into the bag, not quite thanking Armin, but more like, intensely stare at him in a way that conveys multiple mixed messages.  
  
Armin should’ve, would’ve, and could’ve fallen off that ladder at any moment when he was staring into those coral golden, sea foam green eyes, but he doesn’t, luckily.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
  
“Le thé habituel, s’il te plaît,” Levi orders casually out of his favorite coffee shop, “Elle aura littéralement quelque chose de sucré et _déca.”_  
  
The young, 14-year-old girl at the register smiles at him and the oblivious woman next to him who couldn’t pick up French even if her life depended on it.  
  
“Okay, _Monsieur Rivaille,”_ the girl gives him his total, smiling lightly at the two. Levi was a family-friend to her grandmother, and a regular at their shop. But this was the first time he’d been accompanied by a woman! Or, at least, one that wasn’t one of his subordinates that he clearly had no interest in, or an obvious age gap with—no, she wasn’t projecting.  
  
“Thanks, Zofia,” Levi had uttered, but she didn’t hear him, too lost in thought.  
  
They were an odd couple.  
  
It’s not every day you see guys put away their pride to date taller women. It was cute. But she wasn’t gonna say that. Levi would definitely rat her out to her grandmother at the least, or have her head for it at worst. He did have a slightly murderous vibe to him.  
  
Levi pays and within two minutes, they’re called for their warm drinks and sit outside the shop at a table.  
  
His dark eyes glance over at the woman with her messy ponytail and scuffled up lab coat and jittery antics and her trying to cage her words with a lip bite and Levi takes a quick, savored sip of his white tea, still painfully hot, before he sets it down, sighing, “Lay it on me, four-eyes, before you shit yourself.”  
  
“Thank you, _God,”_ Hanji inhales, “I was about to implode.”  
  
“So, what’d you discover?” Levi says, interest peaked by Hanji’s theatrics.  
  
He was always interested in Hanji’s theatrics; she was quite the performer, never a bore.  
  
  
“They have a dialect. We have no idea what it’s called or the sentence structure, we don’t know shit about it but it’s magical,” Hanji says, banging fists on the table with a maniacal grin.  
  
“Alright, calm down for a sec, hot stuff. You say they’ve got a fully-developed language?”  
  
“Yeah! They had an argument right in front of our eyes, and ears,” she elaborated. “It was me, Erwin, and the intern that heard it directly.”  
  
Levi snorts. “Can you imagine the kind of shit they’ve been talking about you, to your face?”  
  
“I don’t care,” Hanji says, high off her discovery; again. “Let ‘em talk. I _want_ them to. Besides, they’d probably talk more shit about _you_ and your _pirates,_ but that’s none of my business,” she smiles, finally drinking her cooling coffee.  
  
“You, four-eyes, are something else,” Levi notes with an amused glint in his eye.  
  
Hanji simpered and her glasses gleamed in the sunlight. “A scientific mastermind with bad eyesight? Yes.”  
  
“Well, mastermind, when do you plan on letting the local news know about this new knowledge? Or are you just gonna keep it to yourself for the time being?”  
  
Hanji hums.  “I think you just answered your own question. I wanna be selfish. Just for a little while.”  
  
“You wanna learn more before everyone else.”  
  
She nods. “Yup. Can’t do that with newscasters leaping down my throat with questions I can’t answer. Plus, I know you’re curious, too; you’ve got that look.”  
  
Levi, who was peacefully sipping his tea, pauses and stares at her. “What look?”  
  
“Oh y’know,” she chirps, “that incognito intrigued look of yours.”  
  
Levi stares some more, feeling a bit like paper. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, four-eyes.”  
  
“Mm-hmm.” She hums innocuously.  
  
She doesn’t believe him.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think! first anime fic and i like constructive criticism lol :).


	3. ; “holy maria!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy /early/ black history month!

The sight of a warped, smiling, titanic Hanji hovering above them made them very wary of whatever she had planned.

Eren and Jean cowered away to one side of the saltwater tank, making her frown in distaste.

She smiles again, going off in that Eldian language of hers, probably trying to assure them every little thing was gonna be alright.

A few tasty fruits did not automatically mean they were gonna bend at her every whim. Eren grits his teeth.

He’s not cattle—like mindless crabs or silly little shellfish—he’s not just gonna allow himself to be herded and sent anywhere. He gnashes his teeth.

“Why don’t we just get our weapons out and kill them?” Eren suggests.

Jean looks surprised, “I was wondering when you’d say that. I knew a few grapes, as they call them, weren’t gonna keep you at bay forever. But we can’t just go all sicko mode on them now. We’ll leave a mess.”

“You’re worried about evidence?” Eren scoffs. “Their technology isn’t a match for ours. Who’d find us once we get back to the ocean?”

Hanji rolls up her sleeve, sticking a hand into the water, wiggling her fingers, hoping one of them would take initiative and grab on.

Jean quirks a brow at her struggle and laughs. “Speaking of which, do you know the way back? ‘Cause I don’t.”

Eren blanched. “Shit.”

“So now what? We attack and just wing it from there?” Jean tugs at the gold beaded chain around his neck.

“We should just play along.”

“Let them study us? And learn all our secrets? The ones we protect? Are you dumb?”

“No,” Eren smirks, “I’m just being tactical. As they study us, we study them. Find a weakness, find a way out. And maybe, no murder.”

Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. “You failed Battle Tactic!”

Eren shrugs, extending his claws and reaching out for Hanji’s hand, letting her pull him out the tank.

“I sure do wish we could understand what they’re saying,” Armin said.

“Agreed. Their full-blown conversations are fascinating. It tells us a lot, but it would tell us _more_ if we knew what exactly was being communicated,” Erwin comments. “Hanji, you’re sure you don’t need help?”

She waves him off. “They’re not that heavy.”

Soon enough, Eren was sat down on a chair, draped in a towel, while dripping heavily onto the floor. He sinks fangs into his bottom lip to keep from swearing. His eyes dilate as he adjusts to the new, drier view of the room.

It’s more harsh angles than soft squiggles, and the pale people look even paler. Eren looks at his skin. Tan. Golden. _Warm._

Jean plops down next to him with the assistance of the Hanji, and he frowns. He’s wrapped in a towel as well.

“At least they’re not reacting aggressively,” Erwin sighs, “That’s good.”

Hanji, now soaked, but feeling accomplished, squeals. “I wanna have a look at their eyes first! Let’s see exactly how their eyes adjust to underwater darkness!”

Jean fiddles with his necklace some more.

The big, tall man with the white lab coat approaches them, having the aura of a stern father and the mermen narrow their eyes at him, hostility subtle but present.

He takes a small flashlight out of his pocket and shines the white light directly into Jean’s light brown eyes, which brings a natural yellowy glow as a result.

Eren looks at Jean’s uncomfortable expression and regrets his decision to just play along almost instantaneously. He didn’t want them to do that to him.

And disappointingly enough, the Armin was just there, taking notes. Over the past few days, Eren found him to be the most tolerable; not as serious and stoic as the big yellow-haired man, but not as jittery and jumpy as the brunette woman.

Erwin shines a flashlight into Eren’s green eyes and the same glow comes from his as well.

“Interesting,” he whispers. “Hanji, are you seeing this?”

“Am I!” She shrieks, practically drooling, mesmerized. “They seem to have that same layer that many wild and domesticated mammals do. What’s it called again? It reflects light and gives the eyes a glow.”

“It’s the tapetum lucidum,” Erwin offers, cutting the flashlight off.

Eren’s head is spinning a little and Jean’s is throbbing.

“So does this makes them mammals? Or are we still not sure?” Armin inquires, pencil behind his ear.

“We’d need to conduct more tests to find out. It would’ve been better if we have one male and one female—who knows, there might even be hermaphrodite fish-people! Levi needs to get back on the water!” She decrees. “Yes, they have hair and can breathe air. But do they give birth or lay eggs? Can females produce breastmilk? These are the real questions!”

Eren’s lip is bleeding from where his fangs had pierced him. He sucks on it.

He was cold. And irritable. And he didn’t like not knowing what they were saying.

Even though Jean went into this angrily, Eren thinks he’ll be the first one to lash out; as always.

“Alright, should we put them back in the tank? Or should we just let them sit out here?” Armin says, “I do feel bad for them at times, being all cooped up in there.”

“We can make an experiment out of that. Let’s see how long they can stay out of water. We know they _can_ breathe air but it’s clearly not their prime source of oxygen; so let’s see how long it lasts,” Hanji suggests. “We can test multiple things at once, like their mental capacity and whatnot. Give ‘em brainteasers!”

“Dr. Zoe…”

“What? Primates do brainteasers all the time; it’s cute,” she rambles. “Right, Jeanny and Er?”

Eren leans back at the close proximity and her yelling questions he didn’t understand in his face, and he snaps.

He leans over and grabs Jean’s hand, pressing his thumb into his necklace and watches the pieces break off and reassemble into a decorated military spear in a quick beam of light.

Jean looks horrified when Eren snatches _his_ weapon—his native jewelry—and just abuses it. He wields it incorrectly but the humans are threatened enough by the display, backing off slowly at the sight of Eren with a sharpened stick at his disposal.

It was made of the magma of the underwater volcanoes and rewarded to the toughest and bravest shark soldiers. The hottest spear was the strongest, made with minerals not even known to have names and doused in gold and various embellishments. Jean cherished that thing. It was a gift from the elders and the great whites.

And that bastard Eren was just swinging it around blindly.

He was screaming threats, telling them to leave him alone and stop shining light in his eyes, but they looked almost amused at his display.

He wasn’t _doing_ _it correctly_.

Jean didn’t understand why he didn’t just use his _own_ weapons for _his_ tribe; but whatever.

He snatches the tall spear from Eren’s grasp and shoves him away, pointing it at the smallest of them all, the Armin.

He was the most tolerable, but the most expendable in terms of hostages.

Armin doesn’t quake even when he’s faced to tip with the sharpest point he’s seen in his _life_ but he is incredibly tense. Still, to his credit, he’s _fucking awesome_ for not pissing himself on sight like people should.

Hanji, on the other hand, looks enraptured and laughs. “Holy Maria! It’s like… like an underwater Wakanda! Jewelry that turns into weaponry! What’s next—a superhero? This is awesome!”

“Zoe!” Erwin hisses at her, sighing before removing his glasses, and slowly approaching the frowning Atlantean boys. Eren had claws drawn and feet ready to kick absolutely  _anywhere_ if need be and Jean’s hands never wavered as he kept the mystical spear right on Armin.

These silly humans didn’t even understand nano technology. It was relatively simple to make decoy jewelry that actually concealed an entire arsenal of weapons. Or, at least, back where they’re from it’s easy.

 _“Don’t come closer,”_ Eren warns in his aquatic jargon with a snarl, and Erwin reads the tone of his voice and sighs, hands up in surrender. _“Don’t.”_

“I apologize,” he starts, “we haven’t treated you well. We’ve caged you like animals and looked at you like exotic fish. You’re too intelligent for that. We should’ve acknowledged and respected that fact. You’re more like us. Like people.”

Jean furrows his brows. The man was trying to make peace; Jean would show him it wasn’t working.

With a quick, calculated twirl, the tip of his spear swung from Armin to Erwin. A loud sigh of relief is heard from the intern.

Erwin is unflinching.

“We can take you back to the ocean, if you’d like. We’d just like to know a bit more about you first. We won’t harm you,” he reaffirms, “We won’t. After all is said and done we can part ways, and you’ll never get put in a tank again.”

“Dr. Smith,” Armin calls, “are you sure they get you?”

“I…” he looks to him, and then the spear, and then Jean and the red war paint all over his arms and neck. “I think they will. Actions speak louder than words after all.”

Eren folds his arms, retracting his claws with a huffs. His whole body was tense. He needs to move. He hates this room.

“Please,” the scientist starts, “drop the weapon.”

Jean stares at him for a brief moment, pondering, before he sucks his teeth and points the spear upwards at no one, hitting it on the floor three times for it to return to its original state.

He clips the necklace back around his neck and sits down in the chair.

Now Eren’s made a fuss and they _really_ weren’t getting out of this soon.

Stupid bastard’s caught their interest, using _Jean’s_ fingerprint scanner.

“Tank,” he inhales, “no more.”

Eren is shocked when he speaks the human language, but he too has heard that word far too many times in reference to them and he’s sick of that wretched place.

“No tank,” Eren says gruffly, cracking his knuckles. “No tank.”

“Right,” Armin exhales. “No tank.”

His heart still hammered in his chest.

Hanji nods, which brings relief to the mermen because it was all her decision. They see her fire off into her notebook and hear her mutter some words to herself. Her glasses shone in the light that was pouring into the room from outside.

“Advanced underwater illusion technology,” she mutters, “for warfare, hunting, or protection? Or all of the above?”

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

During the night they are overseen by Nanaba and Mike who volunteered to take the first shift in watching over them.

They bring pillows and blankets and an inflatable mattress big enough for all of them to fit on.

However, the Atlanteans take over the mattress, not so much taking up so much area—they we both quite thin—but just because they _looked_ like they didn’t want to share.

They had claws and smelled like seasalt, so Mike wasn’t exactly eager to jump in anyway, and he refused to allow Nanaba to get within two inches of their space.

They opted for some swivel chairs instead, and woke up with killer neck pains the next morning.

Erwin opens the door with a brown paper bag from some French place Hanji had recommended and smiled, “Good morning.”

Mike opens an eye, like it was a chore, and his mop of hair is only messier when he just wakes up, irritable and groggy. “G’mornin’,” he grumbles, pulling sheets back over his head. He pinches his neck, trying to massage the burn away, but it doesn’t work.

Nanaba’s still out cold, head on a desk and drooling.

“Come on, Mike, don’t be like that,” Erwin coaxes him out of the shell of his. “I brought crêpes.”

“What kind of crêpes?” Mike sniffs the air. “Oh, cinnamon.”

“Yes, cinnamon,” Erwin chuckles, “I will never understand how you do that. I can’t smell a thing from this sealed bag, and I’ve been holding it since I got it.”

“Mmm, ‘cause ’m like a bloodhound.”

“Well, I’m grateful you and Nanaba offered to work the first grave shift watching over those two. You won’t believe what they did yesterday,” Erwin sighs, lengthy and drawn out and distressed.

Mike furrows his brows, reaching for the bag and removing a small tray of the food,  “What’d they do that required me to bring an air mattress?”

“They rejected the tank. Openly. With a threat of bodily injury.”

Mike pauses, looking at the two boys who has taken over his inflatable mattress, the dark-haired one slumped over the other young man’s torso. _“Those two_ threatened you? Weren’t they the same ones who didn’t trust _apples?”_

“They fear us, yes, but I think they wanted us to finally be afraid of them too. They’re quiet easy to read.”

“When you speak to each other, do they interrupt, like they understand you? Do they say somethin’ back?” Mike forks at the first thin pancake.

“No but, they’re very emotional when talking to each other. They’re always so _angry._ But I’d be angry too if I was held captive. Yesterday, when we wanted to examine their eyes—“

“And discovered that layer on their retinas,” Mike adds.

“When we discovered the tapetum lucidum, they didn’t react well to the bright light. I couldn’t warn them either, because of the language barrier, but, they _really_ disliked the eye examination. They seem to have fingerprint technology embedded into their garb. Eren used Jean’s thumbprint to– to _unlock_ his neck chain, that same one he has on him right now,” he points to the bed in the middle of the lab, “and it morphed into a spear that was as tall as I am.”

“It _morphed?_ Smith, that sounds like somethin’ out of a cartoon,” Mike chastises, narrowing his eyes drowsily.

Erwin rubs his temple.

“I wish it was a cartoon, Zacharias. I don’t know where to go from here. We want to keep studying them, _I_  want to. But we’ve come to an understanding that they don’t like the tank, and they won’t go back in there. I even told them they don’t have to. But you and Nanaba can’t come from your homes to keep watch over them every night, especially when they’re angry and unpredictable; and to be quite frank, I don’t even _want_ to do a night shift.”

“Actually, they were surprisingly docile. Maybe it’s because they aren’t as put off by Nanaba ‘n I since we work with other creatures ‘n aren’t in this sector, but they were already tired by the time we came here. Yeah… they just looked at us for some time ‘n talked to each other, but then they fell asleep quickly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… pretty lax,” he hums at the flavor of the delicacy; it tasted just as good as it smelled. “Why are you here before Hanji?”

“Punctuality isn’t really her thing, you see. She’s probably caught up in traffic, _again._  Or she overslept, _again._ Or she could’ve went to the docks to see… nevermind.”

Dr. Zacharias is unamused but not surprised.

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

The tall, Ghanaian man clad in camouflage gear smiles heartily at his old friend as he walks past the hoards of people and leaps over rolling suitcases.

“Onyankopon!”

Hanji jumps onto him in an embrace.

He laughs and hugs her back before setting her down.

He catches sight of Levi Ackerman behind her and his smile never wavers as he extends a hand.  “Levi, good to see you.”

Levi, not fond of dramatic airport reunions, shakes the man’s hand, agreeing, “Likewise, Mr. O. Finally discharged?”

Onyankopon huffs, awkwardly scratching his neck. “Yeah, finally. War gets tiring.”

“Tell me about it,” Hanji concurs. “While you’re in town, I’ve got something I want you to see.”

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

Hanji, for all she is—an acclaimed, respected biologist, an honored war vet, a lovable nutjob—is also a bit of a showoff; a bragger.

Although the same creatures she discovered threatened her life and her intern’s, she stood in front of them, grinning as she introduced Onyankopon to them.

They couldn’t try anything funny now; it was way too many people for them to take that type chance; plus, they had warriors in their midst—Hanji, Dr. Smith, Dr. Zacharias, Nanaba, Levi, and Onyankopon all stood in this room, looking at the two boys who had barely woken up an hour ago and were still lazing around.

Eren stares wide-eyed at the new face, and looks down to spot Levi next to him, and he glowers at the man. He didn’t like him—he was a short, pale monster.

He did notice the absence of the Armin, and that was likely due to he and Jean going absolutely feral and threatening to slit his throat but… still.

In retrospect, he feels kind of guilty. If only he hadn’t popped off the way he did. It was just a little torch; just a little headache—but he was so used to the darkness of the deep sea. Armin was actually tolerable. Almost likable, even. To a fault.

Jean rubs sleep out of his eyes for the unnumbered time that morning and runs a hand down his face at the off-putting sight.

Then they started talking in that language again and Jean was really lost. He wishes he were in a complicated bad dream right about now.

Jean looks at the Ghanaian man with vague wonder. He didn’t know humans came in an array of shades—he’d only ever encountered people lighter than him. Now, there was a man darker than him and Eren; it was strange, but comforting to know that they weren’t the only ones who were a little different.

“Ah, wow, these two serve as proof, then,” the Onyankopon smiles subtly,, speaking a little awestruck and breathlessly, “of Mami Wata’s existence.”

“Mama who-now?”  

“She’s a deity from the African diaspora. Her name translates to _‘mother of water’_ or _‘water woman.’_ She’s a long-haired shapeshifting mermaid who wears a snake on her waist and grants wishes,” he chuckles. “If they’re real, who’s to say she might not be? Though, I doubt she grants wishes.”

Erwin grins, clapping a hand onto the other’s shoulder, “Maybe she is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy \early\ black history month!  
> (edit: march 13, 2k19 - jussie wildin lmao.)


	4. ; the sun kissed the skin

  
  
_“You ever notice,”_ Jean starts softly, gently playing with Nanaba’s fingers, _“how **warm** everything is up here? It’s never too hot or too cold like down home.”_  
  
He slides his webby fingers in between hers and interlocks them, facial expression analytical and curious.  
  
He liked Nanaba and Mike, he really did. They came as a packaged deal, and Jean appreciates knowing what he’s buying; totally the opposite for Hanji and Erwin.  
  
Nanaba flushes, realizing a new reason to hate working night duty and babysitting the very two- _legged_ mermen.  
  
Eren rolls his eyes at him, _“You were the one who told me not to be curious and now look at you. Hypocritical seahorse bastard.”_  
  
_“Oh, **fin off,** ”_ the other retorts smartly, _“She’s soft, and warm, and she has yellow hair. I figured **you’re** into that.”_

 _“What are you implying?”_ Eren growled.

His lip quirks upwards as he jeers teasingly,  _“You know._ _”_

Mike is still asleep, given that it’s only six-something in the morning and employees won’t really start filing in until seven.  
  
Nanaba, poor unfortunate Nanaba, woke up earlier than normal, only to find the two seemingly waiting for her. It was unnerving. It was unsettling. She was more shocked to find out they hadn’t completely totaled the place, trashing everything. She can only imagine what they were doing or saying while they were both asleep. But she ain’t dead yet, so it’s all good. For the time being.  
  
So she wakes up peeved, because her own two-steps-ahead thinking process had forced her right into a rut and she’s ticked off about her own realization. She has no time to be ticked off though, because now she has to keep her full attention on the teenage- _ish_ -ers.  
  
She has no clue how. But apparently, they did.  
  
They treated her like a fine specimen. Eren toyed with her hair, mostly ruffling it, disrespecting it, harassing it—before he finally attempted to braid it. He saw how uncomfortable it made her and he backed off suddenly. Plus it was too short anyway.   
  
Still, it was only more proof that mermen were more courteous than some on the surface. And some scientists. Nanaba pouts a bit. He was playing in her hair; they’ve kept them in a glass box.  
  
There’s no sensible comparison.  
  
So when Jean continues to inspect her, she allows it; feeling like it was a simple trade-off.  
  
Jean used to be really apprehensive about everyone. But now, he had gotten comfortable with Nanaba and Mike. He had seen them in their most vulnerable states—asleep. Plus, he saw them as nothing short of the big nice quiet man and the small nice quiet lady. So. There’s that. They weren’t really presented with much of a threat with those two. They became acquainted easily over the past week, considering the fact that half of their time together is spent sleeping or lounging about.  
  
Jean looks at their intertwined hands again flatly, raising them up to his sparkling foreign eyes and frowns. His hand was big and veiny. Hers was bony and small. His eyes snap back up to look at hers and he’s met with icy blues, that have the same depth to them as mountainous valleys do. Oddly enough, he thinks she could pass as a daughter of the sea. He could totally see it.  
  
She has the same aura as...  
  
Jean releases her hand and places a thumb on her forehead. He sees it. Clear as _crystal._ She had the same demeanor as someone of— _“Attack tribe,”_ he stated definitively, in his beautiful foreign tongue.  
  
“Huh?” The girl asks dumbly.  
  
_“What are you mumbling on about?”_ Eren stomps back over irritably.  
  
_“Doesn’t she kind of act like Mika?”_ Jean said, presenting her like a new invention. _“Loyal to a fault?”_  
  
Eren shrug, grumbling. _“Erm, I guess.”_  
  
_“She’s loyal to **him** ,”_ Jean points at Mike, _“the Mike man. The same way Mika’sa is loyal to you and the princess and her tribe and her nation and everything—she’s like her.”_  
  
_“Ah,”_ Eren smacks his lips, _“but with yellow hair.”_  
  
Jean rolls his eyes this time, sneering. _“Yeah. That too.  She feels familiar. The most familiar thing we’ve got so far.”_  
  
_“And the Armin’s the most foreign,”_ Eren sighs, admitting, _“Is it bad that I kind of miss him? I feel **bad,** guilty. I don’t like it.” _  
  
Jean quirks a brow. _“It’s very bad that you’re missing that bastard.”_  
  
Nanaba shifts awkwardly, wishing she could catch even a granule of what they were saying about her and Armin and blondes in general.   
  
_“You hate Armin more than you should,”_ Eren chastises, _“Unless you like him, in which case, you are a serious dickhead, **dickhead.** ”_  
  
_“I don’t like him,”_ Jean fumed, clenching his fist.  
  
Unsurprisingly, Mike slept through this all. He only ever springs up when it’s time for action; Nanaba has no idea how he does it. It’s like he’s selectively alert.   
  
_“Whatever you say, crabby-pants. He was the one who gave us nonlethal food—“_  
  
_“Which the Hanji brought to fatten us up—“_  
  
_“And,”_ Eren ignores him, continuing his defense like some benevolent lawyer, _“he’s made efforts to stop the Hanji and the Smith from doing whatever they want to us for the sake of ‘knowledge.’ I know you’ve seen him talking to them. He’s afraid of his superiors, but he’ll speak with them like they’re the same rank if it means helping us. Pretty ballsy if you ask me. Plus, you’re the one who called him cute, not me.”_  
  
_“I didn’t ask you. And don’t ever quote me on anything I ever say again.”_  
  
_“Ah, forget it. You’re too dense.”_  
  
Jean grumbles. _“I’m not dense, I’m pissed. We’re getting way to accustomed to this prisoner of war lifestyle! Scheduled meals, scheduled cruel and unusual torture! Scheduled listening to this weird-ass language! We’ve been here for eight days and seven nights already—that’s a week—and for what?”_  
  
Eren smiles, but he isn’t happy. The reality’s sinking in. _“Alright you’re right; you are. But you being homesick isn’t gonna magically get us home any quicker. And plus, I don’t want to leave just yet. I want to get back at the Levi. Maybe kill him. Maybe hurt him real bad. **His** huntsmen started this.”_  
  
Jean stands, stretching, and nearly hits the floor again. They weren’t used to not floating constantly. It was... weird. Eren laughs shamelessly at his blunder.  
  
_“I wonder if anyone’s looking for us,”_ he says openly. Nanaba feels a twitch at her eyebrow.  
  
_“Oh, knowing my parents, I know they’re pulling their hairs out trying to find me. That means they’ll also be bending over backwards trying to find you. They’ll ask every dolphin for directions if they have to.”_

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
“Armin.”  
  
His eyebrows shot up, surprised. He points and faintly speaks to the elder scientists, calling their attention. “He... he said my name.”  
  
Hanji looked over at the boy sitting calmly in his chair, a vast contrast to how he was a few days ago. “He did?”  
  
Armin nodded. “Eren said my name.”  
  
He approaches him slowly, cautiously, not wanting to trigger him somehow and lead him back into that leviathan state he was a couple days prior. Armin would feel more safe and secure if they had all the jewelry removed from them altogether—dangling earrings included—because now he couldn’t even look a bracelet without getting queasy.  
  
But Eren never snapped at him, or bit him like Armin worried he might; instead he welcomed the intrusion, turning it into a invitation. Eren reaches a hand out and touches Armin’s arm and he wishes he could say something the other would understand. Something along the lines of ‘sorry for threatening to take out your eye and/or end your short life.’ All he could say was a really accented, strained, “Armin.”  
  
Armin kneels in front of him and the smart, forgiving bastard curls his lip upwards. All he says in response is, “Hi again, Eren.”  
  
“Hi again,” he repeats, and feels a little lighter.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
“Hey, so Arlert, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Hanji swings Armin over in one direction, circling him away from his original checkpoint like a revolving door. “How would you like to host the Atlanteans?”  
  
“Atlanteans?” Armin furrows his brows. “Wait, host?” He murmurs under his breath.  
  
“That’s the general term we’re calling them for now. Their Latin name is undecided but I’m thinking of ‘homo aqualidus’ but that’s not my point, Armin. Dr. Smith’s brought it to my attention that they’ve taken quite a liking to you, despite their recent behavior. I would be more than happy to oblige and house them myself but Erwin pointed out how I wasn’t ‘the best at taking care of myself,’” she puts up dubious air quotes, “and when I asked Zacharias he blatantly denied, and even though they’ve taken a liking to Nanaba as well, I just didn’t have the heart to put more weight on her back.”  
  
Armin considers it, and then his eyebrows draw together in an accusatory manner. “So you were totally fine with putting weight on my back?”  
  
Shamelessly, she beams. “Why, of course! What’re interns for if they can’t do your dirty work?”  
  
Armin made an ambivalent whiny sound at the back of his throat, not liking the idea of more responsibility, but not all the way opposed to it either. In a perfect, idealistic world, it could totally work.  
  
If he didn’t have school and a roommate and a side-job and a girlfriend in jail who he had to pay daily visits to so he didn’t feel like a bad person—even though _she’s_ the murderer of the two.  
  
Hanji quickly starts her real pitch; her elevator pitch. “Just think of it like taking care of a class pet.”  
  
Armin scrunches his nose at the comparison. They were too sentient, too human-like for that.  
  
Armin loves his life.  
  
Truly.  
  
Dearly.  
  
But he seems to go against the logic of loving your life when he agrees to keep two killing machines in his apartment built for only two people. “I’ll... I’ll do it.”  
  
“Gosh, Armin, you’re a lifesaver. We couldn’t have them locked up in a lab all day every day. They need a breath of fresh air anyway,” she continues. “You’ll keep them at your place but during your hours, three to six, they’ll come here with you. Then, it’s all you. Just keep them alive and keep yourself alive in the process.”  
  
Armin’s doubtful expression relaxes into a flat one instead. “Okay,” he huffs, “I think that’s... doable.”  
  
Armin was scared but he was also tingling with excitement and worry and euphoria because these people, this scientific discovery unknown to all of mankind outside of this lab was going to be staying at his hous—humble shared apartment!  
  
It was bound to be a hot mess and he was so not ready for it, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling a little bit ecstatic!

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
He shoots a quick text to Marco.  
  
**[ 3:38 pm]**  
**yeah so uhm some friends are staying with us for a while**  
  
**sorry in advance for the weird**  
  
**it gets really weird**  
  
  
**[ 3:40 pm] ROBODT**  
**omg ur txting at work AND its weird ??? i’m afraid**  
  
**but slightly curious**  
  
**let’s get this bread.**  
  
**[ 3:41 pm]**  
**ew. blockt.**  
  
**i just hope you like fish.**

 

 **  
** = ◉ = ◉ =

 

  
  
“The Mike and the Nanaba aren’t coming,” Jean assesses, feeling in his heart that something was off kilter. “I need some water.”  
  
“They’re not?” Eren asked running fingers through his hair. He spares a glance at Jean’s growing mullet and says nothing, despite wanting to insult the goofy hairstyle really badly.

Sitting on a cold lab table in nothing but their thin bare minimum garments had not been the most pleasurable experience.  
  
Jean wants a bath.  
  
Eren wants a scrubbing.

What they get is Armin jingling shiny keys in their view and saying some garbled words to the Erwin Smith.  
  
Then the Erwin Smith helps them off the high table, taking their hands delicately like royalty—like princesses—and letting them step down before practically passing them off to Armin.  
  
Eren blinks. He’s being shipped off somewhere else?  
  
He can’t even fight it anymore.  
  
He plays absentmindedly with his bracelet as Armin drags him by his hand closer and closer to the exit. Eren sees the bright light, and Jean actually smiled unironically.  
  
They were finally gonna let them back into the ocean and let them be free? That’d be amazing! That’d be a miracle!  
  
Once outside in a lot, they see an array of colorful machinery—human transportation. They looked like big bugs with wheels and the Atlanteans scrunched their noses at them. By any means necessary, right?  
  
These couldn’t move like the sea turtles could, and those were all natural. Nature always beats machine. And all humans do is machines.  
  
Armin briskly walks them over to a blood red, beat up, hand-me-down Jeep Liberty that was somehow still pushing despite being over twelve years old and a victim of two collisions. Not his fault, by the way. He did get some money out of it, so he’s almost glad it happened.  
  
Jean and Eren shared a puzzled look with each other, marveling at how such a small guy was responsible for such a colossus vehicle. What’d he even need it for? What did he hold?

“Alrighty then,” Armin opens the back door for them, allowing them to slide into place.  
  
They were still looking a bit dazed but didn’t outwardly question anything—just assuming he’d take them to a beach and let them run back into the waters to never be seen again.  
  
Armin hops in the driver’s seat and adjusts the mirror so the other two can clearly see him putting on his seatbelt, and they mimic the action successfully.  
  
There was a saying in Atlantis for this.  
  
_“Safety first,”_ Eren recites.  
  
_“Safety second,”_ Jean continues.  
  
_“And safety third,”_ they conclude together, snickering as they spoke. That rule—the saying—had been a seed planted into their brains from a very young age. They were heavily indoctrinated on the importance of safety. But they still got themselves _into_ this mess so did all the preaching and slogans even really work? Probably not.

  
_“This is fuckin’ narwhal weird,”_ Jean complains, looking over to Eren.  
  
There’s that undersea language Armin had been waiting for.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
Marco Bodt opens the door to three faces, two of which he’s never seen.  
  
“Hey Armin,” he starts, “Hey Armin’s friends,” he adds, nodding politely to the other two.  
  
The apartment complex is dark and dingy but the inside of the home behind Marco looks well lived in and homely for two young people.  
  
It’s still not the beach like they were hoping for though.  
  
Jean, grateful for his amazing Atlantean genes and awesome sight, can make out little tiny dots speckled all along Marco’s face that promptly makes him think of Ymiro’o, and consequently, Hissu’rei and Mika’sa. He faintly frowns, but steps into the abode given the very annoying fact that he’s totally lost when he’s above water and has no-fucking-where to go anyway.

Plus, Jean doesn’t know how to pilot human transportation, so Armin’s red metal monster is a no go regardless of if he knew his way back or not! It sucks.  
  
Marco allows them to sit on the couch before offering them some water and they chug it like... like it’s water. Maybe they were dehydrated, although he doubts it, but Marco had never seen such enthusiasm over the world’s most basic drink and he can only grin sheepishly at the display.  
  
He’s too weirded out to even have legitimate questions; but they’re there, and he can’t quite phrase it.  
  
Armin takes over. Bashfully. “Marco, this is, _er,_ Jean and Eren. They’re... from the ocean.”  
  
Marco chokes. “What?”  
  
Armin quickly explains; _quickly_ actually meaning _rapidly_ with no pauses for air. “Some local fisherman caught these two about a week ago, it’s been kept a secret from the public, but the research facility where I work has been studying them. I was, uh, actually assigned to take care of them. They breathe water and breathe air. Oh! And I think they’re vegan. Ish.”  
  
Marco blinks, processing everything carefully, then his eyes fall on the gills and the white hair and the oddly shaped tattoos all over the two’s exposed arms and he sighs. “Oh... _kay..._ if these are mermen, why do they have feet?”  
  
Armin’s brow twitches, incredulous. He was expecting more, considering Marco always had an intelligent question to ask—an intelligent, answerable question. ****  
** **

“That’s it?”  
  
“Yeah, I think.”  
  
“I don’t know. We don’t know yet,” Armin brings a hand to his forehead, “I’m basically babysitting them. For two... people that don’t speak the language, they actually understand a lot; wouldn’t be surprised if they got it all figured out by now.”  
  
“So, how long is this supposed to last?” The taller boy quirked a brow.  
  
The blond hesitates, and whines, “I don’t know.”  
  
  
Apparently, Marco, ever so accommodating, was satisfied with that vague explanation, and went over to properly introduce himself, language barrier be damned. He plopped himself on the couch in between them and flashed his friendliest smile, turning on the television with a swift motion of the remote.

  
“I know you can’t understand me, but welcome, roomies.” Eren reels backwards, still toying with the beads of his bands—the happy-go-lucky freckle-faced boy was literally a fingerprint scan away from being faced with a blade if he wasn’t careful. Jean’s expression is stony and his body’s stiff; the Marco’s no real threat but he is all up in his bubble, which is unwelcome to any human. Jean becomes increasingly aware of his  newfound trend of being acutely attracted to human males and he cringes at himself. Why? He didn’t know! His arm flexes. Fortunately, the land dweller is smart and notices the discomfort in the air and briefly stands, giving them the couch. He turns to Armin with a quirked brow, again. “So, vegans, you say?”  
  
The marine biology intern fumbles with his hands. “That’s our safest choice. But I think they might be pescatarians. We can’t just shove burgers in their faces, y’know? They like apples and berries, though, I know that much.”  
  
“So salad for dinner,” the other concludes. “M’kay.”

 


	5. ; done in the name of friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 🌧

  
  
  
The first night spent at Armin’s and Marco’s was eerily calm and flat-out different. Eren could sense how tense the humans were at every waking moment, anytime a movement was made because although civil, Atlanteans were unpredictable. Armin had never worked a grave shift on babysitter duty like Nanaba and Mike had, so he had no clue what to really expect of them at night.  
  
He let them share his bed, and he opted for the couch; once again, just _giving_ them things they had no intention of asking for. Marco had still made persistent approaches to befriend them, but he kept them subtle; or as subtle as can be with him being the ever-so-enigmatic Marco Bodt. He attempted to tell them a bedtime story, the thought of a language barrier being completely thrown out the window. He was so elated when speaking his long-winded gibberish tale to them that they didn’t even make an effort to dissuade him from his useless rambling.  
  
After all the new sounds, new visuals, new people they’d encountered overrun their minds, they were easily knocked out and woke up at around noon the next day.  
  
Eren wakes up, thinking it was a dream, when he sees Armin fiddling in the mirror with his hair that was already showing signs of growth. His face is serious as he looks at his double in the reflection, but it softens instantly once he catches sight of Eren’s anomalous sea-green eyes.  
  
Eren is curious and asks the only question he knows how. “Armin?”  
  
He exhales with a laugh, smoothing down his shirt. What was he getting ready for? Eren doesn’t know, and he wants to because it looks urgent.  
  
“Hi, Eren,” he responded, still breathless, like he was anxious. “I would say ‘good morning’ but it’s 12:13 and you can’t understand me regardless,” he rambles in shambles.  
  
Eren sat up abruptly, and even sitting down he was damn near the same height as Armin. Something was making him feel nervous and it makes Eren feel quite wrecked himself, being the empath he is. Eren stands, looking down at the other sharply with hands placed gently on his arms, steadying him, essentially, trapping him. Even if they couldn’t understand each other, Armin clearly had something to get off his chest. And actions speak louder.

Eren’s willing to listen.

“Armin,” he reiterates. 

He hopes his face will do the talking for him.  
  
Armin raises his hands and breaks away from Eren’s grasp, protesting, “I have to go see her.”  
  
Eren’s head nods to the side like a puppy, his odd, dark brown locks flop over rhythmically, “Huh?”  
  
“I have to go visit my... ex, Annie Leonhart. She’s– she’s a killer... a member of the Titans, the notorious female titan, my crush since junior year who had done all types of malicious shit to the community since forever and I was too blind to notice,” he ranted rather softly, as he needed anyone who’d listen. “I hate visiting her. I hate seeing her behind a glass, but she’s guilty. She deserves to be in there,” he groans before chuckling bitterly, “Why am I even rambling to you?”  
  
Eren dumbly smiles at him, and Armin’s dumb enough to just smile back, weakly.  
  
The young man shuffles around the room trying to find anything for Eren to wear besides his Atlantean garb, to make him more comfortable, and he promptly disappears to Marco’s room to ask for two of his spare toothbrushes, since the other liked to buy those multi packs with the superhero designs on them.  
  
Marco hands him the five pack of cute brushes and Armin picks out the Hulk one and the Spider-Man one. Marco, ever the scholar, was cramming for a test first thing in the day so that at night he’d sleep better, somewhat. He still looked drugged up and drowsy at times because studying really did suck the sunshine out of him sometimes. That, and the 5 Hour Energy he consumed. However he always wore a smile when his roommate was around, and he still smiled, albeit solemnly, when he broke the question, “Annie again?”  
  
Armin cleared his throat with a nod. “I know this is kind of chaotic neutral but can you watch those two while I’m out? I’m not trying to push my job on you but that’s exactly what I’m trying to do, just for the time being. They’re really chill, as long as you don’t touch them. They really value personal space.”  
  
“I would too if I was constantly getting inspected at a lab,” Marco shrugs weakly. The jab stuck with Armin, but Marco didn’t even register the volume of his words. “I suppose I should teach them about showers, then?”  
  
“That’d be great. If you can,” Armin agreed.  “But, uh, I should warn you about the jewelry; I doubt they’ll ever take those off—it’s like carrying around a pocket knife.”  
  
“Wh—“  
  
“Don’t ask. Just _don’t_ touch them or their jewelry, and they’ll be pretty peaceful. When I get back, I’ll take them to the lab.”

  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
Armin smiles at the guards who politely nod at him, offering condolences. Armin hates that they pity him so much, because they view him as just as much of a victim as the three men Annie’s stabbed and beaten to death in the name of her ‘organization.’  
  
His lip twitches as he makes his way to his regular phone booth _—their_ booth—and sits down face to face with the blonde beauty.  
  
“Annie,” he greets, the phone static crackling in his ears.  
  
She twirls her finger around the black cord and sighs drearily into the phone, “Armin. I’ve missed you so much. It sucks in here.”  
  
He scowls, his fingers twitching lamely, “I bet it does.”  
  
“The girls in here are bitchy and brutal and I hate it. I miss you and the outside world and going to the ocean,” she sighs dreamily. “How are the studies coming along?”  
  
“It’s happening,” he says halfheartedly. “We made an interesting find and it’s just,” he looks at her sharp, relaxed eyes, “otherworldly.”  
  
“How so? Tell me about it. You always look so happy when you talk about the ocean—”  
  
“I used to like when you sing about the ocean the most. You’re a good singer,” he admits sheepishly, face getting pinker by the second. “But– we found this new creature and they’re beautiful,” he was looking at Annie— “and graceful in their own right—” he was thinking about Annie— “and oddly charming—” he was talking about Annie, “they’re... a real work of art.”  
  
“I think, maybe, they look at you as a work of art as well,” Annie prompts, scooting closer, “Hey, Armin, do you hate me?”  
  
The question had been on her mind for some time now. Here she sat in a plastic chair wearing an orange jumpsuit, and her signature military-grade sleek bun was reduced to a scraggly ponytail of frizz and fly-aways. It was scarily similar to Hanji.  
  
Armin could tell the question had been looming over her for a long time now, and with all the small talk aside, he could really focus on the storm cloud hanging above her head, haunting her.  
  
Just what was going on in that head of hers?  
  
Armin wants to lie and say he does, or lie and say he doesn’t; but he really doesn’t know where he stands with Annie. He’ll always have love for her—he’ll always love her, too; undeniably, begrudgingly—but what she did was inexcusable and she’d been lying to him and herself from day one. He loves her and he doesn’t want to, but does he hate her?  
  
Armin exhales, shutting his eyes and damn near banging his head on the glass. Being pretty proficient with the white lies, he lays one out for her as well. “No, Annie, I don’t hate you. I could never.”  
  
He wasn’t sure.  
  
Maybe he does already hate her. Love-hate was a tragic mess of feelings—and he and Annie were always good at pretending to lack them altogether.  
  
But that’s different. Annie’s... not well.  
  
“That’s good,” she grins, biting her lower lip, “because the thought of you hating me hurts me a lot; more than being trapped in a cell for twenty hours straight and more than getting beat up by the wardens.”  
  
Despite Annie being more than capable of protecting herself against hordes of people, Armin still winced, placing a hand to the window, “I can never hate you,” he speaks clearly into the phone, eyes holding contact with hers.  
  
“You could never hate me as much as _me,_ ” Annie corrects, “I appreciate that,” she places a hand to the window, matching his.  
  
“It’s not a competition of who’s more against you; I’m not against you, I say this all the time, I just wish you’d done better. You didn’t have to end up in here, and you definitely didn’t have to do what you did to those three men—“  
  
“I had to—”  
  
“You didn’t—”  
  
“They had it coming—”  
  
“Annie, no. That’s the same fucking mentality that got you in here. By your own logic, _you_ had _this_ coming. You can’t live like this, babe.”  Annie’s pale brows raise, Armin doesn’t try to correct himself. He feels tears in his eyes. He continues. “I mean, really? How does it feel to have mentally confused me so much to the point where I don’t even know what I feel about you? Or what we are? We’re exes, but we’re more than friends, yet we can’t function in a relationship. We’re bad for each other.”  
  
“No, I’m bad for you. You’re like an angel. You’re perfect, not a twisted bone in your body. I’ve seen.”  
  
“I’m not. That’s what I mean; you’ve made me into perfect cherubic figure and it’s not true,” he argues. “You shouldn’t aspire to be like me, Annie, you should be trying to be the best _you_ you can be... So try, alright?”  
  
She puffs out her cheeks, folding her arms with the phone set between her shoulder and ear. She blinks slowly, decisively.  
  
“Okay. No promises though.”  
  
“Okay? Yeah, we can work with that. Just... don’t get in trouble. Don’t start anything, don’t finish anything. Just,” he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t have any advice for her, “breathe.”  
  
For some reason, he notices Annie’s eyes gloss over with tears, but she wills them from falling down and she shakes her head with a bone-rattling laugh. “Armin Arlert, I’m going to fucking marry you if I’m let out of here.”  
  
_If_ she’s let out.  
  
But she’s so painfully and obviously guilty, on so many different charges that it’s hard to name them all—aggravated assault, conspiracy to murder, debit card fraud, drug trafficking, three counts of homicide, petty theft, and who knows what the hell else!  
  
She’s so, everlastingly, unbelievably lucky that their nation doesn’t believe in the death penalty anymore.

  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
Jean finally wakes up to see Eren freshly washed and wearing clothes that he can only assume belongs to one of the others, considering how drastically plain it looks compared to their more traditional attire. He scrunches his nose at Eren’s tan T-shirt and shorts ending above his knees,  exposing blue ribbons of patterns and sacred art.

He was starting to match up with orcas in the way Jean matched with sharks; gorgeous and dangerous.

  
“You smell less like shit,” Jean comments classily.  
  
“You can go suck a sea snake, bastard,” Eren bites. “They have a cleansing room, and tooth scrubbers.”  
  
“Thank f—“ The other practically leaps, happy to brush away the uncomfortable layer of plaque off his teeth and feel normal and clean again.

The fact that the humans let them stay that long without a cleansing room just showed how gross _they_ were.  
  
“Come one, I gotta show you the shower,” Eren says, “Marco showed it to me.”  
  
_“Sha wuh?_ Since when’d you speak Humanese? The hell?”  
  
“I’m putting my ears to good use.”  
  
“But you’re a terrible listener!”  
  
“No.” He denies, “I’m just a terrible listener to you ‘cause you’re rude and I zone out.”  
  
“I—“  
  
“Let me show you the shower!”  
  
“Sha wuh!” Jean perks up again, incredulous at his friend, “Say it in Atlantean!”  
  
So Eren teaches Jean about their cleaning station—the shower—just like Marco had shown him. It was very similar to the ones they had back home, so he figured it out quickly and shooed Eren out of the room as soon as he got the hot and cold water to balance out.  
  
Later, decked in Armin and Marco’s clothes respectively, the aqua lads end up moseying around Marco, all bored and sulky.  
  
The student is pitiful when he glances at them, but he had thing huge exam coming up and he needed to cram everything he could. So, he decided to pull up some Disney movies on Netflix, specifically ‘The Little Mermaid,’ a classic, and one of his favorites.  
  
Maybe they’d be able to relate to the tale; maybe they’d critique it for all that it’s worth. Either way, they’d be occupied.  
  
So he sits them on the couch while the last pack of buttery popcorn is popping away in the microwave like little dynamite  and he gauges their expressions as they watch the black screen vignette into colors and cartoon images. Honestly, he’s a bit underwhelmed. They didn’t seem impressed in the slightest by the surface technology all around them. Babies gave Marco more to work with than these two.  
  
He rubbed his chin. It was clearly foreign to them; but they also clearly weren’t primitive enough to be limited to actually doing things like ‘going outside’ for entertainment. Did they have TVs under the sea? Hell, maybe their forms of entertainment were more interesting.  
  
He hears a charmed snicker when Ariel and Flounder’s bright ketchup and mustard color schemes float around the screen, and Eren has an arm around Jean while the pale-haired man’s arms are folded critically. The microwave dings.  
  
Eren, still laughing, says something in Jean’s ear, and Marco notes that he cracked a smile.  
  
When they’re thirty minutes into the movie and halfway through with the popcorn, Marco finds himself joining them out of sheer boredom. He’s seen the movie a surplus amount of times and knew Ariel’s whole dumbass character trope like the back of his hand—but he still indulged because nostalgia could never make him hate this movie no matter how stupid it was or how hard he tried.  
  
The others actually let him sit between them, the most friendly gesture he’s gotten so far, and Marco smirked victoriously. Things were going swimmingly; pun intended.  
  
Eren hums before commenting something again in his mesmerizing language, and Marco zones out of the movie just to focus on him speak despite the message clearly not being for him. The language was breathtakingly romantic—it kind of sounded like Spanish, but also swirled in with Greek, with a hint of Punjabi and Amharic tossed in; it was a perfect mixture of itself.  
  
Jean finally speaks back to Eren, and it’s the first time Marco actually hears him really talk. His voice is deeper than both of theirs, but his cadence is in a whole other realm of its own. He looks over at his face, and when he does he almost feels guilty because of how flustered the heavily tatted, white-haired person becomes.  
  
Eren tosses himself with laughter at this point, voice rattling with laughs and damn near wheezing. He points at the other and is clearly teasing him about something. Marco doesn’t know what, but the glee on his face and the contagiousness of his laughter is enough to have him teeheeing as well.  
  
Jean grumbles but doesn’t really do anything to stop it.  
  
He’s definitely going to kick Eren’s ass later. At some point!  
  
Marco places a friendly hand on his shoulder, patting his arm.  
  
_Not laughing **at you,** just **with him,**_ that’s what he conveys. Laughter is contagious after all, and if the roles were reverse Jean would probably burst a lung laughing like a idiot too.  
  
Still, Marco’s hand on his shoulder doesn’t really help, and now, without body-numbing, bone-chilling, cold, dark waters to hide it, he feels the blush on his cheeks just as much as they can see it.  
  
He fucking abhors it. “Fuck you and this weak-ass movie,” he gripes at Eren impertinently.

  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
As soon as Armin came back to the apartment, he had collected all the notes he’d need for the lab, and escorted the two foreigners with him as well.  
  
Jean felt his lip twitch because Armin looked drained—like he was milked dry of almost all his energy. He doesn’t address it, though. Not like he can.  
  
Eren notices as well but chalks it up to it just being one of those days for him. Those bad ones that everybody gets and still can never be prepared for.  
  
When the three roll into the lab, fully intact and bodies not chopped up by Atlantean war machinery, Hanji shouts with ecstasy.  
  
Against their better judgement, the two let their façades fade quickly when they notice their sleepover buddies Mike and Nanaba. Their faces light up quite childishly—and they were glad to see something sort of familiar after all the unfamiliarity of the night before.   
  
“Kid, today we’re going to test you on your legs. How well you can use those things out of water,” the blonde declares. “So hopefully no violent outbursts.”  
  
Jean blinks dumbly at her words and just decides his safest option was to shrug in response. She takes it.  
  
“Well, off the bat we know that they’re a bit wobbly ‘n slow in gait,” Mike jots down.  
  
They had cleared a big space in the middle of the large room of all tables and chairs, pushing all the desks to the side prior to their arrival. It looked weird. It looked like all floor, like something was supposed to be there. Like the tank, or the air mattress. It was like being in a museum before they shipped in all the artifacts. The space was so... nude. It was just there.  
  
“We want to see them run,” Hanji explained to Armin, who nodded along with furrowed brows. “Nanaba’s gonna run with them, and you can too, if you want. That’s why we’ve got our makeshift indoor track field.”  
  
That explained why she wore workout shorts and sneakers under her prim lab coat.  
  
“Which is,” Erwin pushes up his glasses, “me coming here at the crack of dawn to rearrange the furniture and scrape the tables against the floor.”  
  
Armin chokes out a pity laugh. He’s an intern, here to do Hanji’s ‘dirty work’ but he’s thankful as hell he didn’t have to be the poor sucker to do that!  
  
Nanaba, the yoga aficionado, walks them through a few basic stretches.  
  
Once they’re done with that, Jean takes a good look at her and looks behind him at Mike and then back at her. Objectively speaking, they were probably the friendliest humans he’d met thus far, sans the fakeness of the other scientists with their ulterior motives. Granted, the others weren’t evil or malevolent by any means; but they were withholding him from going back to his home all because they wanted to study his kind—and that ulterior motive was kind of selfish in his eyes. Nanaba and Mike, though, they just hung out with them at night. Sometimes playing games, sometimes exchanging folk songs so they could all playfully butcher each other’s dialects, and most of the time just peacefully asleep.  
  
So, the friendliest gesture in the Sunken Island of Atlas was a chaste kiss to the lips; so that’s exactly what Jean did—no thought involved.  
  
Eren cheers, almost congratulatory, and wants to formally initiate Nanaba as an official friend also. She barely has time to register what happened before he pecks her as well.  
  
Chaos ensues. Confusion from all angles. Mike and Erwin usher them away from her and allow her to recuperate and process what just happened. Armin’s in a state of shock, and Hanji—glad that no harm has been done—is trying to analyze it all. The tall men look down on them very sternly and frankly, they’re confused.  
  
What’s wrong here?  
  
_“What’s your deal?”_ Eren scrunches his nose. _“Nanaba’s our friend, that’s what friends do!”_  
  
_“Really could use that Humanese right now ‘cause these guys don’t look too happy about it.”_  
  
Eren grumbles, _“I may not be fluent in Humanese, but I can definitely explain,”_ he cranes upwards and kisses Mike on his stubble-ridden cheek.  
  
Mike doesn’t even react—not on time at least—but then he asks Erwin, “What the hell do they think this means?”  
  
Erwin is puzzled to the highest degree. He looks at Nanaba who wipes a hand over her mouth feverishly, laughing nervously. She makes a comment about that being a downright shocking experience and salmonella. “Clearly not what it means to us.”  
  
Eren repeats the word again, hotly trying to prove his point. _“Friends!”_  
  
Jean shoots him down with a dismissive wave of the hand. _“Forget it, they don’t get it. I should’ve never started this. I guess they just don’t do that up here.”_ He chalks it up to culture shock and miscommunication.  
  
And now he feels a weird swivel of guilt in his gut because he doesn’t know what it means up here and why it’s got everyone so offended.  
  
Eren is, stupidly enough, still repeating that same word over again, parading himself as he borderline shouts the phrase, _“We were trying to make friends! For friendship! Look, it’s totally harmless,”_ he yanks Jean by his shirt, and he trips at the sudden force—Eren disregards it, and seals the deal right in front of everyone in there, effectively accomplishing three things—making Jean’s cheeks totally flush, confirming that he’s a culturally inept dumbass, and confirming that he not only failed Battle Tactic in school, but basic fucking etiquette as well. This was not the situation for an impromptu lip-lock with your bro!  
  
Armin raises the clipboard over his face, smacking himself with it, “Oh my fucking lord,” he whispers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had to explain those "gang" and "armin/annie" tags somehow lol


	6. ; jaeger bomb(shell)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "tHeReS oNLy goNnA B FiVE ChApteRS," i said............... i played myself.

  
  
Eren danced in the tripled mirror, a very clear smile worn on his face as one young man admired his physique relentlessly.  
  
The tailor measured his arms’ length, hips, shoulder width, and just seemed so awestruck at it all. The dude basically swooned when he got to his waist.  
  
Eren found it to be absolutely hilarious. He was never so conscious of his body until now, but in the best way. Floch, the tailor was named, was rambling off to Armin while endlessly praising Eren’s build, and Armin just stood there and nodded, tense because he didn’t want Floch to accidentally set off some alarms in the Atlantean.  
  
Jean was still fidgeting. He hadn’t stopped since Armin had cleverly wrapped their necks in bandages to hide the deep gills that’d look like freaky axe wounds to passersby. He kept scratching at the fabric. But he was very cautious. He only ever picked at the back of his neck so that Armin wouldn’t catch him trying to peel it off. It wasn’t like it was tight or anything, but it was unimaginably uncomfortable.  
  
Plus, being out in public, he was severely outnumbered and didn’t want to risk exposing himself. Even more so, there was a whole lot of children and families out today. He didn’t see that much in the sea. Everyone just sort of branches out to wherever they wanted to go, and it didn’t really matter as long as they returned home in the end. Yet and still, he didn’t want to scare a child with the truest version of himself, even if it was just a human child.  
  
So, he was on edge. _Clearly._  And he loathed not being able to do anything about it. Funnily, enough, Eren seemed to be doing just peachy. That only agitated him further. Of course the other doesn’t think too hard and overanalyze like he does. But how is he so appeased as to let some random stranger trace along his hips? With the measuring tape or not, Floch is weird. He makes Jean feel weird. He doesn’t like it. They’re just lucky it’s him and not Mika’sa or else he would’ve gotten his ass handed to him on a platter minutes ago. Mika’sa’s anger hits differently. _Way_ differently.  
  
Jean narrows his eyes and nearly steps forward, but Armin places a firm hand on his chest. Jean doesn’t feel like trying to justify himself to the other so he doesn’t make a move to, but he still wonders how Armin could catch his movements so quickly.  
  
Maybe he was tense too.  
  
After all, he did seem apprehensive about even letting them run errands with him. But Marco suggested it. Marco was like a Humanese near-equivalent of Hissu’rei, who was godly. They were both kind-hearted to an almost inhumane level.  
  
He kept on stressing the need for ‘fresh air’ and Armin laughed at the accidental joke to stall time before grudgingly agreeing. Marco even threw him some money and shouted at him to go to Costco and bring him the best vegan pizza he’s never eaten in his life.  
  
Costco doesn’t _have_ fresh-baked vegan pizza. Armin doesn’t _want_ to try vegan pizza.  
  
Armin also doesn’t want Jean to leap over at Floch—annoying as he is—for touching his friend ‘inappropriately.’ Even though Eren doesn’t seem to mind it in the least, Jean looked beyond peeved.

  
“Floch, you can chill out now,” Armin commented.  
  
“Okay,” the auburn-haired boy relaxes, before clapping a hand on Eren’s shoulder when he continues. Jean sees Eren visibly flinch, out of surprise more than fear, and he sees his thumb hovering over those bracelets of his again. But the tension of that split second dies down when the tailor/shop aide laughs again and leads them to the men’s section with clothes that’ll fit best. “If you need anything sliced, I’m your guy.” He nods with a brand of southern hospitality.  
  
Armin cringes. Pizza was still freshly in his mind when he says, “Don’t say it like you work at a pizzeria. You cut pants.” Floch always did annoy him, but he wasn’t impolite, so it was bearable.  
  
He shrugs, “Same difference,” he turns to Eren again with a faint smile, “What was your name again?”  
  
Eren went blank for a hot second before he started, “Oh, _Eruno—_ ”  
  
Before he knew it, Armin had both his and Jean’s hands and was tugging them away like they were bratty little kids.  
  
Hiding behind a rack of uncategorized clothes, Armin turns to face the two sets of confused eyes staring at him.  
  
“It’s Eren for now,” he whispers. “Okay? Eren... Eren _Jaeger,_ ” he named him after an actress, Carla Jaeger, who was most famous for being eaten by a monster in one of her shows.  
  
“What the hell is a _Jaeger?”_ He asks Jean, and Jean shrugs at him with an equally bewildered look.  
  
“Jean,” Armin searches his brain for any Germanic sounding name he’s heard at some point that could blend in well in their country. He settles for _Kirschtein,_ the name of his kindergarten teacher. “You’ll be Jean _Kirschtein._  Just like how I’m Armin Arlert.”

He is sure to point at himself for the last bit.

  
“Oh,” Jean brightened. “He’s giving us new names,” but then he deflated once the thought marinated. “But I like being Jeka. My _mom_ named me. Why should I change it?”  
  
He was very defensive and Armin had no comeback to that.  
  
“It’s not like we’re staying here,” Eren reminded him curtly, “We won’t have to be Eren and Jean much longer,” and he shoots a glance at Armin that makes him wish he could deliver a clear response.  
  
Newsflash—he can’t.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
After scouring the entire department store, they couldn’t find a single thing they truly liked. They both hand picked out one hoodie because they were such coldblooded people that they finally wanted to experience true coziness while they could.  
  
Only thing new that came out of that store besides that was some boxers—because Armin wasn’t giving them his undies again.  
  
Now in the car on their way to Costco, Armin had cranked up the radio to relax himself. A Jonas Brothers song was seeping from the speakers in a standard poppy sound. Ever since the trio had gotten back together, the radio companies have had a field day feeding off the hype and replaying their hit song, ‘Sucker.’ Armin was not mad at it, in fact, he appreciated it, and even started humming and nodding his head.  
  
Jean was seated directly behind him, humming along and mumbling lyrics of his own—which had to be some old folk song Armin’s never heard of. Jean closed his eyes, head leaned against the window as he drowns himself in another world and sings absentmindedly.

Jean doesn’t even realize his lips are moving. Once his eyes were closed and he went to his alternate reality, whatever happened was just the natural aftermath of that world.

Eren—who had become comfortable enough to sit shotgun—had turned to look at him, appreciative grin on his face. Jean rarely sang, despite them being descendants of sirens. So, this was a shining moment.

At a red light, Armin glances at him in the rear view mirror, and can truly assess all his features without him putting up all his walls.  
  
Jean had long eyelashes and light, borderline _untraceable_ freckles that Armin could only see because the light was hitting his face from outside. He had high cheekbones and a defined jawline and small bow-shaped lips. The white fringe could also never stand still over his face. It was so... _flowy._  Eren’s was too, he realized. To top it off, he was a legitimately good singer. Armin smirked at this, reducing the volume and pushing the vehicle forward again.  
  
Eren soon chimed in as well, the familiar Atlantean lyrics flowing easily out of his mouth. It willed the other out of his hypnosis. Jean heard Eren and got quieter, timidly, but the harmonies were still there.  
  
Eren stops abruptly, scolding him, “You’ve got the voice of a lead singer. Use it.”  
  
Jean’s thin eyebrows furrow. “Huh? Don’t command me,” he says, grumbling. “And what are you talking about anyway?”  
  
“Stop being modest. I’m actually trying to give credit where credit is due here,” Eren makes a weird motion with his hands, and Armin just side-eyes him, amused.  
  
Jean sinks into his chair with a dismissive roll of the eyes, “Whatever.”  
  
He pulls his gray hoodie over his eyes.

  
  
= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  
“No,” Armin shakes his head.  
  
Jean frowns. He hates that word. Majorly.

  
He liked the nice people offering out samples with their weird red attire and hidden hair. And he wanted to try the beef jerky thingy.  
  
The old woman behind the stand just makes a flabbergasted expression at the scene before her and smiles at Armin when she notices the very prominent tan bandage on the taller boy’s neck.  
  
She’s so enraptured by Armin’s ‘good-natured deed’ that she has to **give** **kudos**. So she does this with a whisper, “You know, it’s real good of you to take care of these type of people. God’ll bless you. The world is too crazy for them poor boys to be walking around all by their lonesome. But this tastes good, can he not eat it?”  
  
Armin awkwardly answers with a shake of the head, “No, it’s not good for his health.”

Marco had once told him about a cousin of his who was allergic to meat. It was called alpha-gal. Armin would just have to lie to people and say they had that. Then, he’d have to give him imitation meat made out of soy and tofu and stuff so it could quench their curiosity.

He winces internally at the scenario he was in nonetheless, figuring that the old employee was misinterpreting the situation—and his parental vibe didn’t exactly help either. Still, there wasn’t much a person could interpret this as.  
  
She pointed them over to some other sample stands. One was for organic chocolate chips. Perfect.  
  
Jean shut up quickly about the meat when he inhaled about twenty chocolate chips at once and was reaching for another cupcake cupful before sharply drawing his own hand back like he was burned—not wanting to look greedy. Eren chuckles and tries some of his own, nodding at the employee graciously. The woman, who was younger this time, had hearts in her eyes and nearly fainted all over the chocolate.  
  
Armin hides an amazed snicker behind his hand.  
  
As they meandered through the store, they kind of just tossed whatever looked good into their basket. There was no list because there wasn’t anything in _particular_ they needed. The fridge was just empty and with the help of Marco’s card, they’d fix that, no problem.  
  
Armin sometimes looks at Marco like he’s crazy because he had all the credentials to go to some swanky international school, yet he voluntarily chooses to stay too close to home and barely asks his parents for _anything—_ or, at least, not that Armin’s seen. His rich ass pays sixty bucks a month for a membership card to splurge on all his cravings but he just hands it to Armin and says ‘have fun’? Yeah, Marco was an enigmatic one, for sure.  
  
At the checkout, Eren has already busted open a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and has practically nutted over the sweetness and the grainy texture of it all—being melodramatic and loud; the usual. Jean cracked open a plastic container of green grapes and already started popping them in his mouth nonstop like he was Pac-Man.  
  
They did all that despite Armin telling them not to with emphasis on the _‘not.’_  
  
They ignored that and simply grinned—false and toothy—to the young cashier who gave them wary looks. He immediately goes back to punching numbers in when he notices the sharp piercings, suspiciously concealed necks, colorful tattoos peeking out of their sleeves, sharp teeth, and hobo attire—Armin’s pajamas and sweats on their bodies, respectively.

  
Yes, he minded his business real quick. Pitifully, Armin, despite being dirt poor, tells him to keep the change for his troubles.

  
He figures he’ll cry over those six dollars some other day.  
  
Eren is clearly on a sugar high by the time they’re outside in roughly eight seconds. That Cinnamon Toast will really mess you up, apparently. He was gigglier than normal and had a pep in his step that would be inspiring, considering his presence in the roadway commanded all cars to stop for him; however, it just stirred up concern in Armin since the last thing anyone should do in the street is prance around!

  
Armin and Jean look at him go ahead of them towards the red Jeep, and shrug at each other. They had really only bought junk food with a side of grapes.

Because Armin likes to overindulge.

The grapes were their great equalizer.

Who doesn’t like grapes?  
  
Armin pushes the cart and a slight wind makes it shove him back and he makes a very _meme-able_ frustrated expression as he continues to push. Somehow, in the midst of keeping his eyes on Eren so he doesn’t walk straight into the actual road or get hit by an inattentive driver, Jean vanishes like the _frickin’ Avatar._  
  
When Armin notices this, he visibly panics.  
  
He did not just lose Hanji’s baby, her cinnamon apple, in the Costco parking lot!  
  
She’ll have his head on a stick, for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stream sucker by the jo bros now :).  
> ...also i think i made eren and jean born sexy yesterday trope/stereotype... crap.


	7. ; actions and consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ya homegirl promised to finish what she started a month ago and is back to fulfill that promise! shout out to that one person who comments -- i love you <3 and thanks for fw my shits! + levi speaks french here again so M W AH !

 

 

 

Armin and Eren run through the mega mart parking lot desperately trying to look for any signs of the other merman.

Despite his unique looks of darker skin and purely white hair—in _eastern Europe,_ mind you—it was still difficult to find him!

That is until Eren made some sort of screeching sound and pointed out someone by a silver car in a gray hoodie with a shining white fringe at the top. He was holding some huge boxed object and Armin was too mentally busy to register what it was. Eren had to have said ‘there he is,’ he had to, because now they’re rushing over to him trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing.

They shimmy in between cars and dodge pedestrians, cars, and carts alike while they play their impressive live version of literally any game ever that involves crossing the road. As they get closer to the man in question, who apparently had selective hearing and couldn’t recognize his own name—in neither of their respective languages—was seen with a short elderly couple. The grandpa opens the trunk with a gratuitous smile on his face and his wife takes a step back to give Jean some room to do what he does.

Silently, Jean places the television into their trunk, adjusting it so it fits perfectly. He’d apparently been standing there for some seconds, holding the heavy—light—piece of technology for them and waiting for them to just open their trunk. The old couple started rambling about how their son should’ve came to help them with the task but they thanked him nonetheless and slightly bowed. Jean quirks a confused brow at the gesture and chuckles nervously.

The granny giggles, totally enchanted by his meekness. “Ah, he’s so cute. Like another son. The one we never had. And a good boy. Thank you for helping out, honey. Our poor old backs wouldn’t have been able to take it.”

Her husband laughs at the honest joke and Jean laughs too because he doesn’t really, fully get what’s going on and hates ambiguity. So, he assumes it’s a ‘thank-you’ and that’s it.

When Armin and Eren bound up to him he flashes a gentle, millisecond smile. Eren shoves his arm before scolding him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, man? You had us worried,” he grills him like charbroiled chicken.

Armin tries to apologize to the old couple but he really doesn’t even think he needs to because nothing bad actually happened here. Still, he apologizes for the awkwardness. “So sorry. My... my, uh, cousin, he got lost.”

He kept wrapping himself up into tangles and tangles of lies. It was a mess. A hot one.

The gray eyed old man looked between the three and smiled. “It was no problem. He was a big help. But he doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“He,” Armin grins impishly, “doesn’t quite speak the language.”

“Well, tell him we said thanks,” the elderly man nods at him.

And that was the end of that arc.

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

“Vegan pizza?” Marco asks expectantly with a glimmering smile.

Armin nods with a forlorn huff, “Vegan pizza. I busted my ass trying to find it. Also, I’m never taking these two shopping with me again, so don’t ask.”

Marco snorts. “You seem pissed.”

Armin shrugs nonchalantly, looking at the dark-haired Atlantean snack on whatever else he just got his hands on. “More like peeved. I almost lost Jean in the parking lot.”

“Well, you’re too young to be a parent, so, I didn’t exactly expect the best,” Marco hums, “On the bright side, no one’s dead!”

Armin flops on the couch, startling Eren who almost chokes on a fruit snack. Armin does not recall getting those, but whatever. The merman smacks his shoulder as a result.

“The vegan pizza is supposedly a chicken pizza replica so if it doesn’t taste good, I’m, well... I _would_ say I’m suing, but that’s expensive—so I’m _crying_ instead.” Armin warned, muffled with his face in the cushion of the couch. He raises an educated finger. “But, eek, it’s frozen.”

“Guess I’m cooking it then,” Marco stands, melodramatically shutting his thick textbook with a satisfying boom. He loves shutting that book.

Armin turns his head and smiles, tired as shit. “Love you, thanks.”

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

“This is good,” Eren admits subtly through a mouthful of veggie substitute cheese with his cloudy emerald eyes glistening curiously.

Honestly, it’s the most innocent and calm he’s ever looked. Even being with the other Atlantean in that cramped tank made him antsy, and being watched on night shifts by Nanaba and Mike was nerve-wracking despite the mutual tolerance that formed from it. Sitting here, in a gloomy apartment at a table meant for maybe two adults _max,_ with a string of cashew cheese chasing his pizza as he _keeps_ stretching it, Eren looks the most adorable. It got cuter when he pauses to look at Jean who was stuffing his cheeks just as eagerly, to wipe the side of his mouth.

The adorableness almost makes you forget the fangs he uses to bite into his second slice.

“It’s good?” Marco asks with a smile.

It was so _friendly._ So, so friendly.

Jean awkwardly looks at him and then anywhere else, but there was little smile that blossomed on occasion between chews that he thought nobody noticed. A lightbulb goes off above the brunet merman’s head and he nudges the other with an obnoxiously Uzi-esque shoulder shrug. The white haired stallion side eyes him, clearly annoyed. 

Armin had a feeling him and Eren were seeing the same picture here.

Hell. Maybe Marco noticed it, too. He was always quiet with the things he knew about.

When they hit the second box of pizza—because of course there was more than one when four growing guys were involved—Eren had made a comment in that gorgeous language of theirs that had Marco melting because it was _so pretty_ and Jean cracking up to the point of near death because he was the only one to understand it.

“I’ve never had to open my mouth this wide before,” he had said, innocently enough, before inhaling another oversized slice of pizza.

Jean cackles and the beads in his sorta-mullet glow and shimmer in the light with his head movements. “Eruno’ye... What?” He wheezes, dropping his pizza onto his plate climactically.

“Wait!—Jeka, that’s _dirty—_ lemme just—because we always eat little stuff back in the sea. Or, at least, I do. I don’t know what the warhammer sharks feed you but the founding orcas _love_ babying us. I only ever ate tiny fish, squids, sea snakes... and maybe an electric eel once or twice... but that’s really it. Those are _small.”_

“That’s because you’re inhaling this food as if it’s gonna swim away,” Jean starts, after collecting himself. He pauses. “Wait—you’ve eaten electric eel?”

“Yeah. Why is that weird? Your people eat anemones! That’s just as wild!”

Jean couldn’t help but wonder, despite having a full stomach. “W-Well... What’s it taste like?”

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

“Hello, mer-boys!” Hanji greets.

She had rented out a pool at a local recreational building so the entire place was empty. The scientist was predictably wearing a black one piece swimsuit with her lab coat tied around her waist. She had a stopwatch and a clipboard in tow in which she drew a detailed chart and expected to fill out to it’s fullest extent.

Armin was kind of thrown off as to why she insisted he bring swimming gear along too but he said nothing when he noticed the senior researchers donning trunks as well. He assumes it was just in case they were in the splash zone of whatever test was occurring. Of course, knowing Hanji Zoe, she’d most likely jump into the pool soon after anyways.

Hanji tosses some trunks at the humanoid boys who were wearing the clothes Armin had bought for them out of pocket. After their last encounters with human customs and modesty they figured they should go hide somewhere and change so Mike led them to a stalled bathroom.

“So, Dr. Zoe, they’re racing?” Armin asks with arms crossed and his head tilted.

“Mm-hm, sure are,” the chief biologist affirms. “We tested them out of their element so it’s only fair to test them in their element. Plus, I’m curious as hell! Can you tell?”

“That rhymed,” Armin notes under his breath before commenting, “I wonder how fast they can go.”

“We’ll see,” she says before climbing up the short ladder to the lifeguard’s seat.

She had arranged some folding chairs right next to her so that they could all see the results of the race and water exercises for themselves. Unfortunately they were metal, so they were  _cold._ He would get used to it though.

When Mike returns from the bathroom with the two, Armin fumbles because he truly forgot how toned they were. Ripped, honestly. But _lowkey._ Of course, he had been living with them for a while now, but they picked up the human concept of privacy and one’s body being for oneself _only,_ so they didn’t really show as much skin as before; that and they also loved, loved, _loved_ cozy hoodies. Even when showering they always took their change of clothes with them into the bathroom so no more awkward situations would be met.

He blinks. Then he shuts his mouth. He looks thirsty. He _feels_ thirsty. They had the tribally tatted Teen Wolf body that Armin could only hope to achieve. The light blue spirals on Eren’s limbs and chest contrasted extremely with the jagged lines and dashes of scarlet lining Jean’s jutting collarbones, shoulder blades, waist, and legs.

Honestly, from a visual standpoint it was beautiful. And from a scientific stance it was fascinating. But from a cultural exploration standpoint... it was quite amazing. Armin wanted to know the deep-rooted cultural significance of these marks. Clearly they were done very meticulously; they weren’t just staining themselves sporadically. Armin was actually intrigued—and consequently, bummed out because the only way he could _really_  understand is if their language barrier suddenly crumbled into nonexistence.

It sucks that Duolingo can’t force Atlantean on him.

Regardless of Armin being intrigued with their body art, the show had to go on. So they both stretched, the two being fervently ready  to hop back into some water.

They couldn’t contain it and found themselves inside, only thing above being their necks and up. They shivered for about a tenth of a second before their bodies adjusted. 

That was metal as fuck.

Erwin blew a whistle and motions for them to go, which they immediately catch, barreling down the lanes like nobody’s business. They were to water what cheetahs were to land.

However, something was wrong. The first lap was easy, a cakewalk really. But as they progressed they were starting to look more and more like beginners instead of beings that were born and raised by legendary, giant predatory fish and mammals.

Eren folds first.

“Dr. Zoe, I think I should go in,” Armin states but he freezes, hoping for a false alarm, hoping he would shoot back up with a smile.

Thy couldn’t really see what was happening because those two could _splash;_ but Jean saw it and felt it very well.

The water was making him tingle and giving him uncomfortable chills and the smell was starting to be unbearable now that he was doused and submerged in it. He felt his head start to be too heavy for his neck and shoulders.

Eren was slowly sinking, simultaneously thrashing and gripping at his neck to close his gills that instinctively opened up to absorb the oxygen out of the water. What he’s given instead is a burn. Jean felt it as they were swimming too, but the real kick of it caught up to him later.

Next thing he knows he’s struggling as well and his vision’s getting blurred, and he can faintly hear the sound of multiple splashes as weight falls into the water. The humans.

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

Eren wakes up within a minute of cardiopulmonary resuscitation and immediately vomits heaps of chemically treated water at his side.

On his other side Jean wakes up with a scary, gargling inhale before he immediately vomits pool water as well.

There’s a collective sigh of relief around them and Eren is finally pissed enough to activate his bracelets, transforming them into sharp double-sided daggers that could pierce both him and whoever he was swinging it at, if he were a rookie. Fortunately for him, he isn’t.

Now he’s baring his teeth and standing up on wobbly feet because they poisoned him—intentional or not, it happened! These were the same people that promised to take him back home and treat him well. They allowed him to be poisoned!

Tears welled up in his eyes and he could feel his nails elongating into the deadly claws they indeed were. When he turned his head to see Jean, the other still looked groggy as hell.

All the human beings were on guard, hands up passively so that he could see exactly where they were.

He doesn’t give them a chance to try to explain with whatever bullshit scientific excuse and sweet words that he couldn’t understand anyway before he’s lunging at someone.

That unlucky someone being Mike.

He tosses him into the water because he’s angry and isn’t thinking straight when he’s waving knives in his face and chasing the other.

Now that he knows there’s chlorine in the water, he closes his gills and holds his breath for the very first time in his _life._ What the fuck type of merman has to hold his breath? Him, apparently... Eren Jaeger. He hates it.

Because he is so inexperienced with holding his breath, that makes it easier for Mike to swim away from him and for Erwin and Hanji to restrain him so that he doesn’t full-on murder their colleague.

Mike still has a stab wound bleeding out into the pool, so Eren pettily thinks he wins.

He _did_ win.

So, the whole day was canceled and they rushed off to go wrap him up themselves because they had no time to fabricate an explanation for the incident to a hospital.

 

= ◉ = ◉ =

 

“Tu connais la foreuse,” Levi said to the blonde teenager, smacking a bill on the wooden counter.

He treated this family-owned café like a bar and it showed. A lot. But, hey, at least he was a tea addict instead of an alcoholic.

The girl, Zofia, laughs crisply, before commenting sassily, “Oui, oui. Mais c’est la phrase la plus américaine, _Monsieur Rivaille !”_

Levi subtly rolls his eyes at her joke and she smiles more because it annoyed him.

She whips them up their usual drinks and next thing he knows they’re at a table for two.

“So, how was work?” He starts conversationally, expecting the weirdest, despite telling himself not to assume.

Hanji struggled, being at a complete loss for real useful words, “God of Eldia, work was—work was—”

Levi tried to assist. “Interesting?” 

“Something like that,” the messy-haired scientist places her foggy goggles above her head before bringing the warm cup up to her lips. “I’d say more _chaotic_ than anything else.”

There was a pause for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just expectant.

Finally, Levi says what’s on his mind.

“Spill.”

 

 


	8. ; dark colors & radiant hues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SKSKSSJ THIS WAS IN MY NOTES UNFINISHED FOR LIKE TWO MONTHS IM SORRY-

 

_ “Absolutely not! I won’t stand by and continue to let this happen!” Mika’sa snarls, shoving past the people ordered to guard her and keep her below sea level. _

 

_ She rebelled; even as Hissu’rei and Ymiro’o tried to appease her with their words, it did nothing to quell her yearning for the boys to come back safely. It seemed like she was the only one who cared anymore. _

 

_ “Mik—“ _

 

_ “No! I love them, they’re my friends! I love Eruno’ye like a—like a—like a,” she rants, breathlessly, even as her gills heaved heavy amounts of water, “What am I supposed to do knowing I could’ve protected them? We have no clue what those humans have done to them, or could be doing. They’re senseless monsters, you know. I want to show them a senseless monster of my own.” _

 

_ She sounded spiteful, evil, and fully committed.  _

 

_ Which was not good. If Mika’sa was determined to have someone or something killed, she would most definitely do it—no hesitation. She was no longer a little girl, but one of the strongest of her nation—arguably, the most brutal warrior in Atlantis. _

 

_ Which is exactly why Hissu’rei ordered to have her monitored. _

 

_ “Mika—“ _

 

_ “No! No, Hissu’rei. What have you told their parents?” She swam closer, in her face, with a scowl etched on her beautiful, unscathed face. If you looked at her face, you wouldn’t even know she was a war hero, a fighter, a soldier. She looked like one of the princess’ friends in the face. But there was always more. “What have you told their parents? Their tribe elders? What do they think happened? Huh?” _

 

_ Ymiro’o steps in at this point, easing the warrior off of her petite girlfriend. “Mika’sa that’s enough, okay. Hissu’rei’s parents fed their parents some story, but right now we’re working on something behind the scenes to bring the boys back.” _

 

_ “We miss them too,” the princess agrees, “and I hope nothing bad’s happened to them but we have to play smart. Which is exactly why I’ve arranged a search party for them. A select group of people, willing to do it, are searching both above and below sea level for our friends.” _

 

_ “Then why the hell wasn’t I informed?” The girl knits her brows together, glaring at her friends and folding her arms. _

 

_ “Because,” the heiress to the throne sighs, fat bubbles swirling around her face as she does so, “you’ve got too many emotions riding into this. I want them found safe and returned to the right quarters of the ocean. As much as I distrust humans too, I don’t want you getting poached by them because you wanted revenge.” _

 

_ Mika’sa glances at her adornments, the silver and gold and precious gems and shells. Hissu’rei was already speaking and acting like a queen. She deserved her position in society. Still. At the end of it all, they were still some young, dumb, barely-adult kids in their early twenties. This was peak time to make mistakes and Mika’sa intended to make plenty deadly ones if her friends weren’t in one piece—physically and mentally.  _

 

_ So she looks off in the other direction, openly opposing her future queen. Her agemate. Her friend. She says, “Command your people to stop escorting me. I’m not on parole.” _

 

_ “You’re crazy as fuck, no offense,” Ymiro’o interjects with a scoff. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” _

 

_ “I’m paying those people to find them,” Hissu’rei reasserts. “They’ll be found soon, I promise.” _

 

_ “Don’t promise. Let me find them. And let me find the pirates that took them.” _

 

_ She swam off, with that command which sounded like a hefty threat. _

 

_ Ymiro’o facepalms. “Shit. And here we thought we could reassure her. She’s gonna go fucking rogue.” _

 

_ The shorter royal, with the longer hair, looks dejected when she admits aloud, “I think she already did...” _

 

__

_ = ◉ = ◉ = _

  
  


_ “I refuse to sit idly by while my friends get torn to shreds and tortured! No!”  She says, glaring at her female overseer. She looks to the male overseer and narrows her eyes even further, “And I’ll fight both of you to do it.” _

 

_ He quirks a silver brow, disbelieving. Despite Mika’sa being revered as this young, promising warrior, she still had one thing stacked against her. She was young. He was experienced. They both were. _

 

_ “Oh, really?” _

 

_ “Yes really,” she moved backwards, giving herself space for a fighting stance.  _

 

_ The two overseers assigned to her conjure up their tech weapons, reluctantly, and the woman huffs; however, the man looks excited that he could finally do something entertaining. His bracelet materializes into a spiked ball and chain, but the young Atlantean doesn’t flinch. At the end of the day, these were her people, her kinfolk; she’s seen those weapons before and she’ll live to see them again and again.  _

 

_ “You don’t want to fight us,” the woman warns with a wagging finger, “Damn it. We don’t even want to fight.” _

  
  


_ The girl pushes her long hair behind her, ignoring the statement and  proceeds to examine her fangs while running her tongue over her sharp teeth. She conjured up her own weapon from her necklace and reiterates. “I don’t think you understand. When it comes to the people I love, I fear nothing.” _

 

_ So they fought, and the water around them gradually became pigmented with red, and creatures from all ends of the ocean came to watch; not even their hungry, bloodthirsty stomachs could stop this brawl. Nobody was as bloodthirsty as she. _

 

_ She, who only stopped going at them when the two seniors wanted to forfeit.  _

  
  


= ◉ = ◉ =

  
  


“I hate it here,” Eren whines tearfully once their back on Armin’s couch. They had nowhere else to go and couldn’t tell where on Earth they were at this point. Even if they made it back to a beach, how would they navigate back to Atlantis without a single compass? Or at least a telltale landmark to guide them there?

 

No, they relied on the human beings to put them back where they fucking found them and at the pace they were going, it looked like it would never happen.

 

Jean resists the urge to say _‘I told you so’_ about the whole situation, because almost dying by intravenous poisoning and asphyxiation all at once makes a person shut up and think. 

 

Eren cries bloody tears that stain Jean’s shirt all types of dark shades. There’s splotches and there’s streaks, as well as simple drops. Jean always called him a crybaby, but seeing this—realizing how deep the deep shit they’re in really is—he cries too. His best guy friend is suffering, and his best female friend is probably busting her ass trying to find them, or having a hissy fit because she’s not able to. 

 

Life sucks.

 

And they almost died! 

 

Life _truly_ sucks.

 

“We’re going back home,” Jean asserts, rapidly wiping off one of his crimson tears.

 

“I want to kill them,” Eren says, gritty, reiterating his homicidal urge once again. “All humans do is lie, lie, lie and destroy shit! I’m not letting these fuckers destroy me! Or you, for that matter.”

 

“I can still taste the chemicals in the back of my throat,” Jean coughs. “That Hanji is a crazy one. And Armin,” he glances at the human, who was awkwardly standing off to the side, too timid to take a seat in his own house—especially after what had just occurred. “He is an idiot for following her.”

 

“I don’t think I can forgive this shit,” Eren’s angry, but silent tears are still spilling down his cheeks leaving stains of blood rivers over the slope of his cheeks. His eyes were welled up with such large amounts of tears that it was nearly impossible to see them. “Before I leave, somebody’s gonna get hurt... real bad.”

 

It was unsettling and surreal. 

 

He figures that they hate his guts right now and he doubts wasting his time trying to translate for them would work so he reluctantly walks off, knocking on Marco’s door. Helplessly watching them wallow would have done absolutely no good for any of them. If he knew where Atlantis was, he'd rent a boat and drop them in the ocean himself, but he did not.

 

He hears a groan from his roomie, who was half dead in his bed, finally deciding to take a proper nap after what seemed like decades of futile studying. His room was a hippie mess, with a gay flag tarp hanging on one wall and a dreamcatcher dangling off the ceiling, with a whole lot of textbooks and art supplies strewn all around—mainly Copic markers and flashcards. 

 

“Sorry, Marco, but, um... Do you have any paint?”

 

“I think so, why?” The other murmurs into his pillow, never turning over to actually look at his roommate. 

 

All Armin spoke to was his freckled, pillow-cuddling back.

 

“Can I see them? For the guests, I mean.”

 

“The two-legged mermen?” Damn, he read him good. “They’re not guests; they’re practically roommates at this point, they just don’t pay rent,” he spoke with no malice—it was just a truth, “But, yeah, the cheap paint should be under my table... somewhere.”

 

Armin can hear in his voice that he made an unsure face, but he also hears how the other is dozing off. So when he finds it he says his usual word of thanks and is on his way. “Thanks, Marco. I love you. To like, the fucking moon and back, you lifesaver.” 

 

“Love you too, bub, I’ll be here all week.”

 

Armin, for as smart as he was, was about to go through with quite possibly one of the dumbest ideas he’s had to date.

 

See, Armin is a fan of adult coloring books, and so is Marco, for obvious reasons—art is his fucking hobby, and he enjoyed all forms of it—and kids are always encouraged to illustrate what they’re feeling. He figures, since the language barrier is too far gone to be fixed and they both have very _strong,_ very _aggressive,_ very _unhealthily bottled_ feelings about being above the water, he should communicate with them through bad stick figure drawings and finger painting.

 

It was dumb, he knows. He would probably chicken out before even proposing the idea to them.

 

The real challenge was getting their—rightfully—angry asses to cooperate.

 

Armin wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted his head on a pike right now. So as he holds the paint and brushes set, his hands quiver and shake. Both Eren and Jean are bigger and stronger than him, and they definitely come from a culture that isn’t afraid of a little bloodshed. And Marco can’t help for shit, because he simply isn’t a fighter. He’s a hugger. A situation diffuser. But you can’t diffuse a thing with somebody cursing your ass out in a foreign inhuman language.

 

“Shit,” he exhales as he walks into the living room where the two sat tensely. They were an awkward length away from each other, mirroring one another’s bodies. They were hunched over with fists clenched until their knuckles paled, and sniffling could be heard. Angry tears.

 

When Eren looks up at Armin, with shaking shoulders and shiny eyes, the blond is shocked because it looks like someone had scratched his eyes apart. Obvious bloodstains marked his face, streaming down and rolling over his lips.

 

Jean looks up at him and glares and it’s the same image, only made more feral with the show of sharp, shark-like teeth.  

 

Armin sets the art supplies on the table slowly and huffs, slowly moving closer to them and speaks softly. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“Marco,” Jean had uttered. 

 

He wanted to see Marco.

 

But poor Armin just furrows his brows. What did Marco have to do with anything that happened at the pool with the lab workers?

 

Jean’s eyes leak more blood but his expression never changes; he wasn’t crying of his own free will, really; it was just  _cascading._

 

It was strange how they shed tears of blood; almost mesmerizing in it’s own ghastly way. They were human; they had emotions and hopes and feelings towards people and things around them. But they were also beasts; clearly different and more physically superior to survive harsher conditions in different atmospheres. 

 

They were an enigma, and it was kind of uniquely beautiful.

 

Armin owes them a trip back to the sea, and he owes them an apology. 

 

They all do, every human they’d ever come in contact with.

 

Except Marco.

 

But how does he explain it? How does he tell them he really, truly, sincerely regrets making them feel like microscopic beings, constantly being poked at in a petri dish? How does he tell them that he genuinely feels guilty and will drive them into the ocean if he has to, with or without Hanji’s permission? 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, remorse flooding his expression. He seems to be saying that a lot recently, but he has reason to. Lots of reasons to. Their hardened glares never break.

 

Instead they read him, before momentarily snapping to something else, to get their whirring minds off the tension and confusion and chaos humans seems to cause wherever they go and with whoever they touch. 

 

Eren’s eyes fix onto a picture frame. It was silver and face-down. He reaches over and grabs at it.

 

It’s Annie.

 

Annie, who Armin didn’t like speaking of. She who shall not be named. She who was locked up for some heinous crime. Probably one that was gruesome and bloody, or just unnecessarily hurtful; or maybe a very humanistic combination of all things wrong with people. 

 

Eren analyzes it for a moment, before pointing to her smiling photo and wonders how a girl who looks so sweet could get under Armin’s skin so much. Did she betray him? He wanted to learn more. Almost like he wanted to hurt Armin back, mentally somehow, for almost making him, a borderline fish, drown. Plus, the girl looked kind of familiar. And that got under _his_ skin because he just barely feels like he knows her from somewhere.

 

It’d be impossible for Eren to forget the only other pale human face he’s ever encountered. So why does the memory of Annie seem so illusive?

 

He grunts out his malformed question and points at her picture. _“Explain,”_ he speaks in his dialect. He notices Armin squirm and practically melt, and Jean snorts, wiping a streak of blood on his face. The blond was a sucker for their underwater dialect, they knew that much.

 

Regardless of whether or not they liked how each other sounded, they wouldn’t be able to fluently understand each other. But that was a nonfactor to Eren because Atlanteans were perceptive enough to read the expressions of orcas and tiger sharks, so a boy they already know a bit about should be starfish cake and calamari easy. 

  
  


“Tell me,” he says forcefully, this time in Armin’s  way of speaking, “about her.”

  
  


“I told you already. She killed people, she was in a gang. She and I had a thing, _past tense,_ and now we don’t.”

 

Armin spoke slowly but punctuated every word. He didn’t want to talk about her. But Eren and Jean were in pain and frankly wanted to distract themselves from it; so they didn’t give two snails about what he wanted to speak on or not.

 

“I want... to,” Eren struggles to find the word. But he’s sure he knows it, “ _meet_... her.”

 

Jean perks up and promptly shoves Eren for being stupid. _“No more humans,”_ he swears to himself and to the brunet boy, aloud in Atlantean. He shook his head viciously. _“No. No more of them. The only one who’s been good to us fully is Marco, and Armin is at a solid five-star-out-of-ten rating right now. No!”_

 

Jean stands up, and grabs the colorful paint set off the table, and angrily, loudly, walks over to Marco’s room. He needed to let off some steam, and both Eren and Armin were letting him down time and time again.

 

He misses Mika’sa, and he just might weep. Or throw a bitch fit. Whichever comes first.

 

So he opens Marco’s door a crack and slips inside, sitting on his bed with a very readable expression, because apparently Marco was good at reading nonverbal cues too.

 

Marco, despite his overwhelming drowsiness, opens his arms, inviting him in, and Jean takes the hug. He would not be sleeping so easily today, it seemed.

 

“Homesick?” He had asked.

 

Jean didn’t know what it meant at first, but he quickly put it together, and he nodded, trying not to burst with emotions and freak the fragile human out. He didn’t want to be apart from him. He was the only man he could trust, probably a hundred percent, even if every other experience with land people had led him downhill. He was even at a higher tier than Mike and Nanaba, who were guilty by association, in his book.

 

The freckled boy runs fingers through Jean’s silvery hair and after a while Jean looks up at him. Then he glances back down at the paints he’d set at the foot of the bed.

 

_“Art,”_ he glanced around the room. He noticed all the colors fit each tribal group of Atlantis and it sparked an idea. _“Let me make art.”_

 

“Mm-hm,” Marco agreed dumbly with a cute nod.

 

He cracked open the set, picked up a tiny brush and looked at the human again before closing his eyes, and letting his hands choose a color.

 

If Marco were in any of the tribes, he’d be apart of...

 

“Green?” The boy spoke curiously.

 

Jean opens his eyes, to see that his mind had unconsciously led him to a dark green color, one that was appropriately representative of the Armored tribe. 

 

It made no sense, to a point where it made perfect sense.

 

Marco was gentle and soft, but observant and calculative when he wanted to be. He armed himself with wise words and careful actions, making sure to never cause hurt and never get hurt. Like a sea turtle, he was armed, amazing, and unstoppable. 

 

It was like a zodiac sign. 

 

But it hit closer to home for the sea-native, closer to sleeping on the ocean floor and watching the lobsters do weird dances, where Jean wanted to be. Closer to sneaking around Hissu’rei’s house—the royal palace. Closer to his friends, family, his brothers.

 

However, with all that was going on in Jean’s head internally, innocent Marco is a bit stupefied at Jean’s amazed and somewhat smitten expression. He’s more confused when Jean pokes a finger onto the thick green swipe of paint on his cheek, only to dot right in between his brows and slide it down again, creating another symbolic line. 

 

Jean doesn’t really know how to phrase himself in a way the college student would understand but he loves the fact that Marco looks like him now, sort of; like home, almost like one of his own. It’s great; and his awkward, freckled chuckle makes it all the better. Jean finds himself meekly admitting, “Looks... cool.”

 

Then he kissed him, and Marco, despite initial shock, reciprocates. 

 

Now when they say they’re going back to the ocean, they mean it, and aren’t giving any more chances... and he knows he might actually miss his makeshift, illegitimate Armored boy. 

 

However, they still miss home more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i truly love hanji;  
> she's eldia's educated crackhead,   
> but.... i needed an antagonist.   
> so oops. - a poem


End file.
